Beckett's Debt
by Amymimi
Summary: Lord Cutler Beckett is pulled from his watery grave and held as captive aboard the Black Pearl. However, the pirates, namely Elizabeth, may have taken on more than they bargained for. Post AWE. Sequel up!
1. A Vow Of Vengeance

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to copyrighted characters of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

* * *

The roar of the explosion sent his body hurtling through a cloud of smoke towards the open sea. As his back struck the surface of the water, the breath was knocked out of him, which brought him to the realization that he had survived the fiery destruction of the _Endeavour_. His body began to sink into the depths, but was stopped abruptly by the presence of the downed East India Trading Company ensign, which cradled his body only several inches from the surface of the water. Struggling weakly to free himself from the fabric all around him, Lord Cutler Beckett writhed a bit and then went limp, thinking what he assumed was going to be his last thought. _How could this have happened to me? How could I have been defeated in such a way? Before long, I'm going to die here, on the very ensign of the ship I commanded. When is the remainder of the fleet going to arrive?_

Little did he know, the others had hastily left behind the wreck of the H.M.S. _Endeavour_. Only the _Flying Dutchman_ and _Black Pearl_ were in close proximity to the ship's remains.

Meanwhile, the _Black Pearl_ was in celebration mode. Jack, Barbossa, Pintel, Ragetti and the Singaporean crewmates had since descended to the hold to fetch some rum and to survey the damage to the hull, which they imagined would be extensive. Only a couple of crew members remained on deck.

Elizabeth Turner gazed out at the floating mass of wood splinters and dead bodies from her position on the quarterdeck of the _Black Pearl_. She spotted the remains of the East India Trading Company ensign and what appeared to be a body on top of it. The hat, the wig, the short stature, recognition dawned on her – it was _Lord Cutler Beckett_ floating peacefully, totally intact, on the flag. Had he actually been able to die an _honourable_ death in this battle? She watched the scene intently for any sign of life, and was given a much better look of the body as the _Pearl_ turned back to the ships of the awaiting pirate lords. As the _Pearl_ slowly passed alongside the remains of the _Endeavour_, she saw the body's arm very deliberately change position. _If he is indeed alive, there is no way in hell that I am letting him die such a peaceful death in the presence of his supporters. _

"Mr. Gibbs!" she yelled to the stout crewmate, the person she knew second-best only to Jack on the ship, who fortunately hadn't went below deck with the others. He nodded in acknowledgement and was quickly at her side.

"What is it, Miss S—Mrs. _Turner_?" He had almost said _Miss Swann_, and chuckled a bit as he corrected himself mid-sentence. This was the first time he had referred to her by her married name.

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him over to the side of the _Pearl_. "Look at that flag there on the water. Do you see it?"

After only a second, he had spotted the large obvious East India Trading Company ensign. Silently he scoffed.

Elizabeth continued. "Now tell me this, is it who I think it is there?"

He glanced quickly around himself, grabbing a nearby telescope from the deck and holding it to his eye. "Could that—could that be Lord Cutler Beckett?"

"My thoughts exactly. And I don't think he is dead either."

Gibbs flashed her an incredulous look. "What are ye gettin' at, Miss—Mrs. Turner? That we ought t'rescue him?" Her face did not change its expression.

"Do I sense a softenin' in yer resolve?" he further implored her. She had been so hell-bent on revenge, screaming for the ships to fire on the _Endeavour_, and now she was taking _pity_ on the very man she despised? Maybe marrying Will had already brought about changes in her.

Elizabeth turned to the weathered man, eyes narrowed.

"I do not wish that Lord Beckett should die such an honourable death. He's totally intact and laying on his bloody ensign, for God's sake. Is that in any way fair?"

Gibbs shook his head as she continued. _Nah. Same old feisty Elizabeth._

"Did he spare my father's dignity and reputation? No. He most certainly hanged my father from the gallows with a smile on his face. If he indeed survived our attack without so much as a noticeable scratch, then I must see to it that he wishes he _hadn't_ survived."


	2. Capture

After several exhaustive attempts to lasso Beckett's body with a makeshift rope lariat, Elizabeth agreed that she herself would descend into the water to attach the body to the rope. Two pulleys were constructed from running rigging. Gibbs lowered her slowly into the midst of the wreckage with the rope from the second pulley. She soon reached Beckett's body and looped the large noose around his torso, working the loop up to his chest level yet under the shoulders, and tightening so as not to allow the body to slip out.

"Alright, Gibbs! You can pull me up!"

Soon after Elizabeth had been pulled back onto the ship, Beckett's soaked and unconscious body was pulled up by Gibbs and her and flopped facedown onto the deck. His hat was still neatly positioned on his head somehow, although his powdered wig looked a bit disheveled. The seawater had ruined his black velvet coat. Elizabeth and Gibbs gaped at the body in awe. Could he still be alive after all that had happened? And how had his hat stubbornly remained on his head?

"We need to cover him. We can't have the crew gawking at him all the time."

"Do ye plan on leavin' him on deck, or stowin' him away? 'Twould be best if we stash him down in the brig."

"Yes. That is what we shall do."

* * *

Cutler Beckett could feel the warmth returning to his extremities as he lay motionless in the brig of the _Black Pearl_. He had allowed the chill of the seawater to set into his bones and render him incapable of much more than thinking of his fate. This was how he had assumed he'd die. Yet, here he was, returning to the world of the living…

He began to violently shiver as the infiltrating warmth restored the function of his muscles. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of a pitch black obstruction, a heavy item lying on his face. His arms were warming and yet they were completely devoid of sensation, so his attempts at flailing them about only ended in him hitting himself, which he also couldn't feel.

_Is this what death is like?_ he pondered. _Sensing everything but helpless to escape one's grave? Did I fail the Judgement? But…how could _I_ possibly be perceived as evil? The pirates are evil. Davy Jones is evil. I was the antithesis of evil, making those bastards squirm in their skins whilst I held my position of power. _

_Yet, it is as if my body is returning to Earth. But how could that be? I am certain that I must have been killed in that explosion. The fire…. Hurtling into the air… The blackness and chill of death setting into my bones. _

His arms soon regained sensation, and he was able to rub his arms along his sides, feeling the stiffness of the ruined velvet coat with his palms. He allowed for his hands to travel to the center of his body, and then bent his elbows so that his hands could approach his face. The heavy item draped over him was itchy on the back of his hands, and he figured it must be some type of wool. He lifted his arms up hastily, throwing the wool blanket off of himself, and squinted as rays of light flooded his vision.

_Where am I?_ he thought, too afraid to speak. _Maybe now I am actually dead, whereas before I was dying. I have been redeemed, for the light of Heaven is upon me…_

His eyes narrowed to small slits, he sat up slowly, using his arms to lift himself into a seated position. Slowly his vision adjusted to the light. He was in some sort of cell in the brig of a ship, and there were many cannonball-sized breaches in the hull, allowing for the sunlight to stream in. Suddenly, he heard a loud but very close thud. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he attempted to regain composure.

Elizabeth barreled through the door, her figure illuminated by the sunlight. Noticing that her captive was now awake, she narrowed her eyes menacingly and glared at Beckett, who could only stare at her, open-mouthed.

Beckett had thrown the wool blanket off of himself, and was now sitting with legs outstretched in the exact same place she and Gibbs had dumped him onto the floor. Most of his wig had fallen out of the black tie and was hanging in frizzy white strings around his pale face. He was as white as a ghost and his eyes were huge and fearful. She could see in this light that the pupils of his blue-green eyes were hardly visible. As she approached the bars, he did not move, staying at his position on the floor yet watching her warily the entire time.

"So, you _did_ survive," she sneered, reaching the bars. It suddenly dawned on him that he had been rescued. _Well, only because you willed it_, he mused, his fearful expression disappearing.

"Why didn't you just let me die," he croaked in a bland tone, looking moderately disgusted. Just like that, he had immediately reverted back to arrogance.

"You do not deserve to die with an _ounce_ of honour," she snapped back at him.

"And how is it that you came to be the judge of that?" he asked, cocky as ever.

"You killed my father."

"So, essentially you are saying that anyone who _kills_ another's relative is subject to judgment by that person?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sorry, Miss Swann, I just don't see your reasoning. If what you're saying is your belief, then virtually everyone is a judge of another… as well as being themselves judged." A smirk appeared on his face, and he crossed his arms awaiting the response.

"I am going to see to it that that smirk will be forever wiped off your face."

Predictably, the smirk remained.

"You really should have let me die then. I can assure you that in what I _thought_ were my final moments, I was _not_ smirking."

"Well, you're alive now, and _I_ can assure you that you will wish you had died already."

Another thud came from the ladder leading down to the brig. The footsteps that followed were uneven, as if the person had been stumbling.

Jack Sparrow appeared in the doorway behind Elizabeth, and immediately saw the captive on the ground in front of her.

"Wot th' bloody hell, Elizabeth! Wot's _he_ doing here!"


	3. Obedience Training

She turned to face the captain.

"I pulled him from the water so that he would not die so peaceful a death." Her response was met with a look of utter disbelief from the captain.

"—But 'lizabeth! Remember th' cannons and fire and explosions! Hardly a peaceful death to spare 'im from!"

"Exactly," Beckett murmured quietly from the floor, gaze focused on the ground. Without warning, Elizabeth spun round and kicked the steel grating, then turned back to Jack. Beckett noticeably flinched at the unforeseen action, and then tried to save face by taking it upon himself to attempt to stand.

Elizabeth continued. "You can see him there, Jack. Not a scratch or bruise on him! Nor a broken limb! For God's sake, even his hat has remained on!"

The pirate leaned over and peered around the woman at the arising captive. "I see wot you mean, luv. However, it's not to say that he's not wounded _internally_ an' is bleeding to death as we speak."

Beckett was now standing, and steadily approached the bars. Jack noticed this.

"On second thought, maybe you're right," he added hastily.

"Can I talk to you about this somewhere else?" she mentioned to him quietly, so that perhaps Beckett would not hear. She was not quiet enough.

"Actually, Miss Swann, I'm quite curious as to what you're planning on doing, seeing as you didn't even ask the captain's permission to perform your little rescue."

With the sound of Beckett's voice much closer to her ear now, she was taken aback, and turned halfway so that she could now look over at him or Jack by merely turning her head slightly. _I want to correct him, to tell him that it's _Mrs. Turner_ now, but I do not wish for him to know any more about me than he already does. He would probably make up horrid lies about Will, knowing as he did spend some time with him aboard the _Endeavour.

"She is Mrs. Turner now, for your information," Jack spat.

_It figures he had to open his mouth_,Elizabeth mused.

"Ah, Elizabeth Swann, a married woman. Does Mr. Turner know he is now married to you, or did you not inform him first either?"

"Nothing I do is any of your concern," she retorted.

He sighed exasperatingly.

"Well, seeing as you've rescued me from my watery fate, you must realize that you have now thrust me into your life once again. Maybe you should inform Mr. Turner of your actions…. That is, unless your intentions with me aren't honourable…." An impish smirk crossed his features again, making it obvious as to what he was implying.

Jack chuckled, stifling a smile with his filth-covered hand.

"And what are _you_ laughing about, Jack?" Elizabeth implored, anger spreading over her features.

"It's just amusin' to me to think that anyone would actually _want_ 'im in their life, is all." He motioned towards Beckett, who scowled.

All sign of rage left Elizabeth's face, and she glared at Beckett, then back at Jack.

"I want his wrists and ankles chained to the bars."

"Ooh, I do believe you're wrong, Captain Sparrow. Mrs. _Turner_ here wants to play rough. Can't say I never entertained the idea myself, but it seems that my rescuer is a woman of action."

The notion of Elizabeth as a woman who enjoyed bondage caused a temporary stir of excitement in Jack's nether regions. Yet Mrs. Elizabeth _Turner_ was not his and never would be… all excitation faded as soon as it had begun. The way she had looked at Will during his final moments alive spelled it out for him: she belonged to Will and Will alone, body and soul. During his thoughts, Elizabeth leaned into Jack's ear, pulling both of them away from Beckett's cell.

"You do remember the _meeting_ that I am attending, Jack," she whispered. "I will be gone until sunset. I do not wish that the prig should escape through a breach in the hull."

"Ahh, that's right. An' while I'm at it, I'll commence patchin' up these holes."

The intimate conversation was interrupted by a deep voice laced with impatience.

"What are you two blathering about now?" Beckett demanded. He watched Jack disappear up the ladder. Elizabeth turned to face him. "You _do_ know that I have an exceptionally astute sense of hearing," he continued, flashing a knowing grin.

"Even if you _had_, you would have lost it in the explosion or from your near drowning," she countered, not falling for his bluff.

He leaned his elbows against the mildewed metal grating, _tsking_ at Elizabeth.

"I should think that you needn't be wasting any more precious time down here, being as my fleet will be descending upon this glorified wreck very shortly."

She flashed him an arrogant smile, leaning closer to the bars.

"Oh, hadn't you heard? After your ship was destroyed, your fleet retreated without as much as a single firing."

Although the disinterested look in his eye remained, his mouth fell open. Elizabeth continued.

"Without your control over Davy Jones, you are nothing, Beckett. My father governed an entire city… for years! Whereas _you_ can't even get your massive fleet to attack the sorely outnumbered pirate fleet, or cause your own men to be _concerned_ enough to circle about and scan the water for any survivors."

Beckett feigned disinterest.

"You aren't very skilled at bluffing, you know," he commented in a breathy voice.

"Which is precisely why I'm telling you the truth. If they were indeed descending upon us, do you _really_ think I'd have remained here for so long? Just so you know, you were unconscious for at least an hour, so figure that into your calculations."

Jack returned with two sets of shackles, which caused Beckett to immediately back up against the far wall.

"This is going to be more difficult than I thought," Jack mumbled, moving past Elizabeth as he met her eye. "How 'bout this for a plan? I enter the cell an' push 'im up against the bars, all th' while you aim a pistol, an' then we slip th' shackles on'm."

After Elizabeth cocked the pistol and aimed it at Beckett, Jack entered the cell. Beckett could only laugh spitefully from his position against the hull of the ship.

"If you honestly believe that you are going to get me to approach those bars merely by aiming a gun at me, then you are sorely mistaken."

As Jack approached him, a big toothy grin revealing his many gold teeth, Beckett shifted towards the back corner of the cell, glaring triumphantly even though his motions reflected cowardice. All of a sudden, Jack leapt at the Englishman, his dagger appearing at Beckett's snowy white neck. Without so much as a struggle or a sound, Beckett walked over to the bars of the cell, Jack's dagger at his throat.

Once Beckett was at the bars, he would not budge. He merely glared slyly at Elizabeth from his position less than a foot away from her. A small grin danced across his face, as the barrel of Elizabeth's pistol rested against his forehead.

"Go ahead… Do me in," he teased, Elizabeth close enough to smell the sea salt on his breath.

"Put your hands through the bars, Beckett," she commanded.

At that command he spat in her face. Before she could even wipe off the offending substance, Jack's dagger was buried in Beckett's buttock.

Wincing in pain, Beckett yowled like a stray cat and fell forward towards the bars, banging his forehead up against the metal. Without delay, Elizabeth grabbed his wrists and pulled them through the bars to shackle them together. She noted that his hands were the opposite of Jack's; his fingers were short, stocky, and clean of any grime or jewelry— except for a large gold ring on the ring finger of his left hand – whereas Jack's fingers were long and thin, and were decorated with filth and jewelry on every finger. However, both men had small enough hands that could slip through the bars easily. Before Beckett could pull his hands away, they had been shackled to the bars.

Jack stood behind him, wondering how Elizabeth could have gotten so skilled at shackling men. _Is she truly into that sort of thing?_ he wondered. _She shackled me without my even being awares, until of course it was too late. Well, at least she didn't kiss Beckett to render him helpless. I don't think I could have watched that._

By the time he returned to reality, Jack saw Elizabeth squatting on the ground and slipping a shackle around one of Beckett's ankles. She snaked it effortlessly between the grating, and then shackled the other foot in place.

"You know, you really are bloody good at doin' that, 'lizabeth," he complimented huskily, yanking his dagger out of Beckett's soft flesh and casually guiding the blade of the knife to slice through the fabric of Beckett's pants. "Might I inquire as to how you became such an expert in shackling?"

"I am going to make you sorry that you ever did that, Sparrow," Beckett threatened, squirming uncomfortably from the new draft behind him, his voice so low that it was barely audible.

"Doesn't look likely that that will occur in th' near future, mate," Jack responded, cool as a cucumber.

Elizabeth could only smile triumphantly as she stood back up and wiped the spit off her face. Beckett winced from the renewed pain caused by the removal of the dagger, his forehead resting against the bars and eyes shut tightly as he struggled to regain his composure. Jack stepped out of the cell, locking the door and standing next to Elizabeth to watch the shackled captive. He looked down at his knife, which was now covered in blood.

Jack slipped his dagger through the bars and wiped the blood off the dagger using Beckett's velvet coat. He pulled it back through to show Elizabeth its renewed sheen. "We can even see our reflections, 'Lizabeth! I guess his bein' here _does_ serve some purpose, after all."

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Please leave me your feedback, whether good or bad! I want to keep this story as interesting and in-character as possible!


	4. Consummation, Carpentry, & Consideration

Warnings: there may be a tad of innuendo an' cursin', so ye be forewarned….

* * *

"Land Ho!" Barbossa announced from his spot on the main deck. When Elizabeth didn't appear from below deck after several minutes, Gibbs went to fetch her.

"Mrs. Turner, we be nearin' land now," he told her. He looked at the sad form of Cutler Beckett, shackled helplessly to the grating, and at Jack, who only grinned drunkenly from his position next to Elizabeth.

Soon Gibbs and Elizabeth had ascended the ladder, leaving Jack in the brig with Beckett. Choking back a stubborn sob, Beckett looked up at the pirate.

"Jack," he managed to sputter, without a hint of sniffling, "it is true that the armada retreated once the _Endeavour_ was destroyed?"

"You mean _your_ armada?" He scoffed. "Deserted you long ago. They're probably sipping tea right now in Port Royal, movin' on wiv their lives. You're on your own, mate."

A look of utter contempt crossed Beckett's features momentarily. He soon straightened his neck and continued speaking with Jack.

"Where are you planning on taking me?"

"You said it yourself, only 'lizabeth knows that."

Beckett narrowed his eyes at Jack.

"How can you reduce yourself to taking orders from a woman of her age and status to boot? An orphan girl wed to a blacksmith. You – _the_ infamous Captain Jack Sparrow – allowing yourself to settle for second on your very own ship." He was surprised to see that Jack showed no signs of annoyance at the comments.

"The _Black Pearl_ already has two captains – though I would argue against that…. However, Mrs. Turner is not one of them."

"The only reason you allow her to order you about is because you want her for your own," Beckett snapped. Jack shook his finger at the captive.

"Now, now now," he chided, "if you think any of this sort of talk is going t' help th' situation—" he paused briefly "—you'd be wrong." With that, Jack headed up the ladder. As the lower half of his legs disappeared from view, Beckett shouted a parting remark.

"You don't deny it then! You love her!"

Before she could leave the ship and the crew she had spent almost every waking moment with the last several months, Elizabeth exchanged heartfelt goodbyes with her crewmates. She knew she'd be back before nightfall, but the fact that all the men on board had lined up on deck as if for some important occasion almost brought tears to her eyes. They even presented her with the ship's sole remaining longboat to use for the evening. Elizabeth entered the longboat and met with Will Turner, her husband, on land as the _Black Pearl_ and _Flying Dutchman_ floated offshore. Since Will was now cursed to spend a decade away from her as the new captain of the _Dutchman, _ferrying souls to the land of the dead, Will and Elizabeth only had this one day to consummate the marriage and experience their "wedding night" before his 10-year absence from the earth.

Whilst Elizabeth and Will shared their intimate encounter, Cutler Beckett, in the brig of the _Pearl_, could only sigh against the grating of his prison. The stab wound in his derriere was throbbing, and he could not even reach back to rub it.

_Damn the whole lot of them_, he mused. _Why couldn't I have been taken from this earth like all the other members of my crew? Instead I have to suffer with this group of heathens for as long as they intend to keep me here._

Jack descended the ladder after more than an hour's absence. An automatic scowl spread across Cutler's face as his enemy approached the bars. He noticed that Jack was holding something behind his back.

"What have you brought with you?" he spoke in almost a whisper.

"You'll see, mate. Jus' keep talkin'."

"I don't understand. Keep talking about what?"

Jack unlocked the door and entered Beckett's cell. Beckett craned his neck to watch him, and followed Jack's movements with narrowed eyes.

"What is behind your back, Mr. Sparrow? Something to stab me with again, is it? Taking your well-trod coward's way?"

"Jus' keep talkin'," was the vague reply.

"You're going to have to be more specific." He looked downwards for a moment, remembering a very interesting subject. "I know – how about we talk about _Elizabeth_? Were you just with her?" Jack disappeared from Beckett's line of sight, but Beckett continued speaking. "The question is, does _Mr._ _Turner_ know what has been going on betw—"

Jack abruptly tied a gag around Beckett's mouth, securing it tightly at the back of his bewigged head. He came around to the side of the captive so that Beckett could again watch him.

"You know, the wigs they make you blokes wear are downright awful," he commented, pulling some kelp out of the scraggly white hairs. Beckett could only speak in a muffled tone, his face becoming redder by the second.

Jack lifted the hat off of Beckett's head and repositioned the wig so that the ragged remnants of the tail of the wig now hung in the center of Beckett's face. He replaced the hat and swaggered out of the cell again, all the while ignoring the hate in Beckett's eyes.

The pirate captain glanced around the brig at the gaping holes in his ship. Several cannonballs rolled about in Beckett's cell, having bowed the metal grating of the cell from various directions when finally losing momentum in their firing into the ship. He scoffed aloud. _Eventually Beckett's going to have to be unshackled, an' when he does his slender self may actually fit through one o' the holes. I don't like th' idea of him alive, but I like the idea of him alive an' captured better than o' him escaping an' chasin' me to the ends o' th' earth._

Jack went to fetch Gibbs to help him with his work. The remainder of the ship's crew had retired to the hold to fill up on the remaining rum. Most of the rum was destroyed by cannon fire from the _Dutchman_, but there were just enough barrels to get most everyone drunk. That is, everyone except for Jack and Gibbs.

The combination of merry music from the gun deck, the occasional hammering of nail into wood, as well as the muffled sounds of Beckett's cursing, started to grate on Gibb's nerves. Once the music had died down to almost nothing, he spoke quietly to Jack so as not to start Beckett on yet another muffled rant.

"Don't ye think we should… forgo this plan as long as there's still some rum to be had?"

"I think that ship's already sailed," Jack replied. "The crew have quieted down enough to make me think that the rum's gone."

"Why is the rum always gone?" Gibbs sighed, looking exasperated. He was patted on the back by Jack.

"Cannonballs, mate. The barrels stood no chance." He shook his head calmly but sadly.

Gibbs looked at Jack with disbelief. "Since when did ye pass up on rum, Jack?"

"I think it's because of th' notion that I fear the breaches in th' hull will allow the _Pearl_ to fill up wiv a substance much less drinkable than rum… either that or th' notion that wiv the _help_ of said breach, our unlikely captive will find his way back to th' top of a company wiv a renewed thirst for revenge, which may actually give him th' incentive to _command_ his fleet at th' needed moment.. Savvy?"

The two men chuckled to themselves remembering the one-sided battle, with Lord Beckett standing seemingly indifferent on the bridge of the _Endeavour_ as his ship was blown to pieces by the flanking ships. There were no _Endeavour_ cannonballs on the _Black Pearl_; that they knew.

Looking over at the shackled prisoner, his powdered wig on backwards, they could only try to repress a new bout of laughter. By this point Beckett was too exhausted from standing to even turn his head, even though he heard their laughter.

Jack and Gibbs worked on repairing the holes in the hull until they heard the sounds of the longboat being raised. It was now sunset and Elizabeth had returned to the _Black Pearl_.

Upon stepping onto the ship, she immediately remembered the captive in the brig, and went down to ensure that he had not somehow escaped. She saw Jack and Gibbs patching the final hole, and Beckett standing at the bars, head hanging in a most uncomfortable position. Jack and Gibbs stood up and approached her.

"All done," Jack said, slapping his hands together. He saw that Elizabeth was now wearing a different outfit and that her hair was wild and unkempt. "I take it that you had a good time."

"I never expected you to do all of this… especially not tonight," she replied. "I was planning on working on the patching upon returning. And yes, I _did_ have a good time." Elizabeth smiled at him slyly.

"Well, now that it's all finished down here, you've nothin' left to do but sleep. Nice feelin', isn' it?" Jack flashed his teeth.

She looked over at the pathetic figure of Beckett, his wig on backwards and a gag around his mouth, and cracked a smile.

"Did you do that to him, Jack?" she asked, shaking her head and grinning.

"Actually, no. He did that to hisself, 'cause he rather likes lookin' like a fool."

She chuckled under her breath, looking up at Jack, his gold teeth shining brightly by the light of the lantern.

"Did he eat anything today?" she asked, suddenly serious.

"Oops… No, that he did not."

"Well, I think I will fetch him something. With my luck, he'd probably die overnight and then there'd be no time for him to be taught a lesson."

The words were sinister, but with the dainty, feminine voice that spoke them, her statement sounded almost humorous.

"I think there may be some gruel left on the gun deck," Gibbs said, "but ye better get to it before the crew gets their second bout o' hunger. Anyway, I'm goin' to be retirin' fer the ev'nin'. Good night to the both o' ye." He gave the two a nod and headed out of the brig.

"What sort of 'lesson' are you proposing for your… captive?" Jack blurted, suddenly insatiably curious.

She looked over at the seemingly sleeping figure of Beckett, his forehead resting on the grating of the cell, tri-cornered hat pushed back on his head, and wig smashed between forehead and grating. The position he was in would most certainly leave some odd markings on his face.

"I am going to see what sort of mindset he is in when I wake him. If he's still his cocky self, which he most certainly will be, I will see to it that tomorrow he will be so completely humiliated he won't even be able to look anyone in the eye again."

"Humiliation, then," Jack commented, his voice low. He leaned in closer to her, his face tantalizing close to hers. "An' this humiliation, wot might that consist of?"

"I remember when I was young; when a boy would misbehave aboard a ship they'd have him 'kiss the gunner's daughter.' Almost never would a boy have to be punished twice."

Jack thought back to his youth as a stowaway on the way to Tortuga. Upon finding the young stowaway, the crew of the ship had punished him in this same way. The familiar stinging sensation returned to his backside as he thought of the experience. How embarrassing it had indeed been! All the crew laughing at him, watching his every expression, as he tried so very hard not to utter a sound. The boatswain had beaten him until he was yelling for him to stop and his eyes were tearing up, but even so, he had not been broken that day. He had sworn that he would from that day forth command his own ship, and not subject his crew to such humiliation. …Of course, he'd be willing to make an exception for Beckett.

The pirate snapped back to reality, once again aware of the young woman in front of him.

"Sounds _interestin'_, Lizzie. An' who, pray tell, will be administering this punishment on said captive?"

"Hm. You wouldn't be interested, would you?" She was met with an uneasy gaze from Jack.

"Uhm, I would prefer to pass if that is alright," Jack replied, a slight queasiness stirring in his stomach. He was not one for administering punishment, unless it was quick and easy and resulted in death for the punished. Shooting and stabbing never gave Captain Sparrow feelings of uneasiness or regret because he didn't have to see the victim's response for very long afterwards. Even betraying Will and Beckett countless times didn't faze him, because he'd take off immediately afterwards. However, he had a soft heart for humbling punishments and a quiet respect for people who had to endure them.

"What do you think Gibbs would say?" Jack heard Elizabeth ask through his reverie.

"I cannot say for sure, luv, but you could always ask 'im tomorrow."

"Wait—what about Barbossa?"

"Barbossa? He's not even been informed of th' _lord's_ presence on our humble ship. I think if you wanted him to be willing to perform th' whole—" his stomach flipped "—punishin' thing, then you'd better introduce him to th' idea in levels."

"Levels? What kind of levels would Barbossa need?"

"Aye, Jack, what kinda levels would I be needin'?" a male voice boomed out, startling the pair.

* * *

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	5. Enter Barbossa

A/N: I forgot to mention in the last chapter, but I've decided to put up warnings at the beginning of each chapter to give readers a heads up on things that may be decently disturbing or risqu**é**. If you do/don't think it's helpful, let me know, and I will do what it takes to preserve maximum reader enjoyment. Thank you!

Warnings: none

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Barbossa appeared at the base of the ladder, smelling strongly of rum. He was more than likely quite drunk, but was still maintaining his balance quite well on the rocking ship.

"Maybe we should consider askin' 'im later," Jack whispered sideways to Elizabeth.

The older captain spotted the man chained up in the cell, and pushed through Elizabeth and Jack to stand in front of Beckett's pitiful form.

"What be this?" he demanded, expression turning sour. He hit the grating with his knuckles, startling Beckett awake.

Elizabeth spoke up. "May I present Lord Cutler Beckett, _former_ head of the East India Trading Company."

Beckett looked up at Elizabeth, hatred in his eyes, as his voice let out a muffled growl.

"Aye… he's lookin' worse fer wear. But why be he on our ship? As I do recall, the _Endeavour_ was blown t' pieces, 'er crew along with 'er."

"He survived the explosion," Elizabeth said matter-of-factly, avoiding Beckett's glare. "I took the liberty of saving him from a dignified death."

The blue-eyed captain began to laugh heartily. "Are ye expectin' me to believe that this was all done by yer dainty little hand alone?" He looked over at Jack accusingly.

"Yes, it was," Elizabeth asserted. "I ordered Gibbs to help me pull the body out of the water, but the rest was my decision alone."

Jack gave Barbossa a smug look, but Barbossa was too busy glaring at Beckett, who could only drool from behind the makeshift gag as he tried to speak. His wrists were red and caked with some dried blood, and the tail of the wig hung stubbornly between his eyes.

"Aye, so we have ourselves an important captive… if'n the Comp'ny should return… but what involvement did ye expect me to have with these 'levels' ye be blabbering about?"

Elizabeth realized that after their success defeating the East India Trading Company, Barbossa was now more at ease. Also, she realized that he was a rather pleasant drunk. Besides those things, she couldn't really think of a reason why a bound and gagged Beckett in their brig was such a bad idea, and the lack of anger from Barbossa confirmed this.

"Well, I must speak to you about these levels in a different place," Elizabeth told him.

"Aye?" He looked over at Beckett, who was making animalistic sounds behind the gag. "Before we be movin' on to business, I be dyin' t' hear what our captive has been fixin' to say all this time."

He promptly approached the bars and, thrusting his long thin fingers through the grate, pulled the gag forcefully down from Beckett's mouth, letting the bandanna fall around his neck.

"Speak Beckett, but do so with enough sense so's that we may hear ye without wantin' to replace yer gag."

The fallen leader licked his mouth of the remaining spittle, and straightened his neck so that he was now as straight-backed as ever.

"What use could I possibly serve?" He looked straight at Barbossa, for this was the pirate that still might be convinced to release him from the _Pearl_ in whatever way need be. "As I understand, the pirates have 'defeated' the East India Trading Company and you have the _Dutchman_ on your side as well. You've gotten all that you've wanted, so why burden yourself with my presence?"

He stood arrogantly, awaiting Barbossa's response. Elizabeth scoffed. _All that time he had to think, and that's the best reasoning he has for his release?_

Barbossa quickly replied, not skipping a beat. "The East India Tradin' Comp'ny is annoyin'ly persistant, an' I be on the lookout fer their swift return. But, with ye in tow, they be less likely t' fire at will an' more likely t' strike a bargain if need be."

"Ha!" Beckett said, almost smiling. "They have no more use for me either. As you saw, I was the one who lost it for the _Endeavour_. They'd hang me for sure."

"Yer takin' an awful lotta credit for that." He looked over at Jack. "Which just proves that blin' loyalty to yer cap'n is downright stupid, a danger to all." Jack scowled, knowing full well that he was referring to the successful mutiny against him. Barbossa turned back to Beckett. "Well, all the more reason fer 'em to want ye back, to dispense ye proper justice, whate'er they see fit. Or maybe they'd take ye back with tears in their eyes, to exonerate ye o' yer sins."

"So instead of fighting the East India Trading Company again alongside your pirate friends, you'd be willing to use me in your concession?"

"There's no tellin' what be the outcome if that should happen… but I can wager ye'll be prayin' fer th' comp'ny t'return, if only fer yer speedy execution, once ye've served yer purpose here."

"And of you I ask once more: what is my purpose here?"

"Ye'll soon find out," Barbossa said with a knowing sneer. Elizabeth was glad of the support she was getting from the tall pirate.

"You have no idea either," Beckett retorted sighingly, a scowl across his face.

Barbossa scoffed, exhausted from this game. "I must say, ye make a poor argument, boy. So 'tis here ye shall stay until we see fit t' rid ourselves o' ye."

The older captain gave another look to the captive, and then bid a quiet adieu to Elizabeth and Jack with a small smirk and a slight tilt of his hat. He was soon gone from the brig.

Elizabeth went to follow him, but Jack grabbed her arm. "Best we wait until tomorrow to discuss such things wiv Barbossa, luv," he said. "At any rate, the first levels have been accomplished."

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	6. Brig Bickering

Warnings: there be a bit o' innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

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"Alright, tomorrow then." Elizabeth looked over at Beckett, who was quite unaware of the situation.

"Well, I in turn am goin' to retire for th' evening," Jack told Elizabeth. "Are you makin' your way to bed soon?"

She shook her head.

"Well then," Jack continued. "Make sure our potential _leverage_ doesn't escape."

Soon Elizabeth and Beckett were alone in the brig. It was only silent for a few seconds, before Beckett spoke.

"What is it that you want from me?" Beckett asked, feigning indifference, his chin up so that he was eye to eye with Elizabeth.

"I want you stripped of your honour, your dignity… and I want your remorse, for what you did to my father."

"That's a lot to ask, I must say. I'm not sure exactly you plan on attaining these things, but I can assure you it won't be easy."

"We'll just have to see about that."

Without looking at him again, she turned quickly and ascended the ladder.

Beckett stood shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as he tried to imagine what she was planning. Was she going to force him to stand in an even more uncomfortable position? He sighed, looking down at his heavily-scuffed boots. _Waiting like this is ridiculous. No one even knows I'm here so no one would ever think to rescue me..._ _She must realize that I'm totally and completely at her mercy…._

Elizabeth returned several minutes later with a dirtied mug of water and a plate of soggy gruel. She lowered the mug to the ground, holding the plate in one hand and a spoon in the other. Once he could smell the food, a sly grin spread across his face and he was immediately set at ease.

"Is this your first attempt to get the things you want, by forcing me to eat that rubbish?"

"Actually, no. But I _am _going to get you to eat this, in any case."

She scooped out a spoonful of the gruel and brought it closer to the bars, but Beckett pulled his head back.

"I imagine this is going to be quite difficult without your two male slaves waiting on you hand and foot to do your bidding."

Immediately she put the plate on the ground, still holding the spoon upright. Immediately after she was standing upright, a sword appeared from her side, and was soon touching a very sensitive part of Beckett's anatomy. His eyes flew open incredulously at the notion that this governor's young daughter, newly married, had the point of her sword on his… _Would she actually inflict harm upon me if I don't listen? _

"I _highly recommend_ that you eat this food," she said coolly, the sword not wavering from its position. She watched Beckett gulp noticeably, gaping down at the sword threatening his nether regions. Within moments, he had looked up at her, displaying arrogance once again.

"I am shocked at how lewd and immoral you have become, Miss Swann. To think, the only daughter of a respected governor, behaving like a common street whore—"

The point of the sword was now pushing into the skin of the sensitive area, causing some extremely uncomfortable sensations, to say the least. Beckett sucked in a breath and held it there, not able to release it for fear of making a sound. The thing he least wanted to do was acknowledge the pain.

"Open your mouth, Beckett, for something other than your feeble arguments." She prodded the sword into him for reinforcement, which caused a swift outtake of air from the former lord. Beckett promptly opened his mouth, and soon the gruel was on his tongue. He closed his mouth around the spoon, watching her intently.

"If I have to jerk this out of your mouth you may well lose a few teeth," she threatened him, her other hand still pointing the sword.

He gave her an evil little smile, and then barely opened his mouth again with just enough room for her to pull the spoon out.

_Is he going to spit it into my face? If he does, he's going to spend the remainder of his life as a eunuch. _

She gave him another slight jab with the sword so as to reinforce her point, both literally and figuratively. She watched his jaws move and his Adam's apple bob indicative of swallowing. He made a face of disgust.

"Is that what you all eat on this ship? No wonder you look like a bloody bag of bones. It even looks like your hair is falling out," he stated, eyeing her disdainfully from head to toe.

"I think it rather foolish for someone in your state to not try to stay on my good side. I never thought you were so foolhardy."

His face perked up.

"Ah, so you mean I was once on your good side and have since strayed? Tell me, what actions of mine have you looked upon with favour?"

"You misinterpret me of course… but I must say, I would look upon your obedience with favour."

"Obedience to you, I presume…."

She scooped some more food from the plate and held another spoonful of gruel up to the bars. "Of course. That goes without saying."

After sliding her sword back into its scabbard, she fed him the rest of the gruel without incident. However, once the plate and mug both were rendered empty, there was something in his eye that she could tell was an expectant look.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" she asked, flashing him a look of disdain.

He shifted his feet uneasily, hearing the cracking of his stiff knees as he did so.

"Are you leaving for the night?"

She was immediately suspicious, and prepared herself for some ignorant comment.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because… I have been standing in this horrendously uncomfortable position all day, and I was hoping that you would permit me to lie down."

She smirked at him.

"And what makes _you_ think you deserve to rest? Ever since I entered the brig, you have been nothing but spiteful. Hardly a way to win me over."

He sighed exasperatingly. "I have had an awfully long day," he griped, much like a disappointed parent to his child. "Losing my entire crew and being captured by my adversaries does _not_ put me in the sort of mood to woo my captor. Do you really need to make it all the more worse?"

"In fact I do. You have been nothing but a pompous arse all day, and I don't think you deserve any type of decent treatment."

As she told him her thoughts, his mouth dropped open, but only ever so slightly. His eyes remained unfazed.

"So you're going to leave me standing here all night then." He shook his head quickly to try to rid his face of the wig-tail.

"Can you give me any reason why I shouldn't, besides your sorry tale of woe?"

He looked down at his feet, then up at her, and sighed.

"What is it that you want me to say? I'm afraid that my bevy of reasons is not going to satisfy you."

She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I want to see your true, honest regret for what you did to my father. I want to see some humility and shame from you, and respect for your captors."

He rolled his eyes. "I said 'say,' not 'see.' So you're telling me that if you were captured by the East India Trading Company, you'd have respect for all of us? You'd be _shameful_? From what I've seen of you in action, you don't have it in you."

"You and I are two completely different stories. You lost. You choked. You are at our disposal now. Your words and your actions have consequences now; you're not above penalty."

He clicked his tongue, his eyes downcast but distant.

"I know that I lost. But why couldn't my loss and subsequent death satisfy your thirst for revenge? How can I possibly respect someone who has problems letting bygones be bygones?"

"Alright," Elizabeth said, turning away from Beckett and heading up the ladder with the plate and mug, "all that you've said has convinced me that you're better off standing tonight."

She was gone before he could utter another word.

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Ahh, thank you to my lovely reviewers! I continue this daily because of you guys! So please continue with the feedback, both good and bad! Thank you all!

And very good point, anonymous reviewer noticing that bit of southern dialect there! I hadn't even noticed that I did that!


	7. Beckett's Bladder

Warnings: if ye can see the title, this chapter contains a scene o' bodily function that is howe'er important to the plot & a slight bit o' cursin', so ye be forewarned…

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All night Beckett stood, unable to sleep, with the urgent need to relieve himself. _I must have ingested more than a gallon of seawater_, he mused. _The only way I will find relief is if I piss in my pants. They can't get the satisfaction of seeing that, though. I cannot relent after only my first day here by making an embarrassment of myself. I wonder where Mr. Turner is. He hasn't come down once to check up. Already their marriage is an odd one. A nice vulnerable spot in her resolve._

As the hours passed, it became more and more apparent that Lord Beckett was going to have to get his misery over with and deal with the ensuing embarrassment. _Nothing could be worse than this. Not only have I been chained up like some sort of animal, but now I'm going to be reduced to some sort of helpless infant unable to hold his water. _There was no angle of hands or body that would allow him to position himself or his clothing so as to avoid soiling them, and so he stood miserably quaking, squeezing his thighs together to keep himself convinced that he could hold it longer. Soon it reached the breaking point. Either he could yell and attempt to wake someone up, which wouldn't guarantee they'd let him do his business properly, or he could quietly get it over with and deal with the consequences in the morning. _It's going to reek and be absolutely revolting, _he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut at his final attempts looked likely to fail soon. _Well, here goes what pride I had left…. _With that he let the stream flow. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to imagine something, anything, other than the humiliating activity he was undergoing. He thought of the day that Governor Swann was put to death.

_The day before, we were on the _Endeavour_, Mercer and I, witnessing the aftermath of the _Dutchman's_ obliteration of various enemy ships. According to Mercer, Swann knew too much about the situation with Davy Jones and the heart. Honestly, what Swann could have done with that information was limited, but he had broken his daughter out of the dungeon and he _had_ convinced her, _begged_ her to break the law. So I gave Mercer the go-ahead to hasten the governor's death. Swann went to the gallows quietly, didn't even have any last words. He just stood there, so peaceful, with his teeth sort of set, like he had expected this. Quite unnerving, I must say. The execution wasn't open to the citizens of Port Royal, only a handful of us officers and such. The citizens would have revolted had they been there that day. Once he was swinging, they took the body away and probably dumped it out to sea, as far as I know. Awfully humid that day._

The last drops of the substance pooled around his boots as the memory faded and he was suddenly aware of the foulness of the hot fluid dousing his pants and shoes and whatever else. The relief from holding all that liquid was spoiled by how wretched he felt now.

_They are going to laugh at me. Jack, Miss Swann –well, apparently Mrs. Turner now… Barbossa…. This will be the perfect fuel for their fire. _

He leaned his forehead against the grating, hoping that he could be overcome by sleep and he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of standing so long until the next morning. _No doubt I'm going to be too sore to move, let alone stand._ _They can weaken my body, but not my resolve…._

The fact that the foot shackles were so exceptionally short made it so that half of each of his feet stuck through the grating, not allowing him any type of leaning stance to retain a more comfortable position. Even so, after another hour of fidgeting uneasily, Beckett somehow managed to drift into a troubling, futile sleep.

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Cutler Beckett was awoken early the next morning by sharp pain eliciting from his fall away from the gate indicative of being unshackled and pushed roughly, and the loud _thud_ as his body hit the floor. His legs completely devoid of all sensation, he collapsed fully on the ground like a limp ragdoll.

"Damn it, Beckett! Y' pissed all o'er me bloody ship!" Beckett flinched at the first yells of Jack Sparrow, soon realizing he had never actually heard seen the extent of Jack's anger since the time he had torched his vessel and branded him a pirate. He remembered that day well.

"_Why in God's name would you want to transport slaves?" he had yelled, once I had him brought back to me after hearing that he had released his latest cargo somewhere along the coast of Africa. I wanted to hear his side of the story before dealing with his treachery; after all, he had been an exemplary employee until that rumour began circulating. _

"_The New World has use for them," I coolly replied. He had become increasingly enraged; I could tell by the reddening of his face. _

"_So you'd transport the bloody Plague if there was use for it?" he demanded, approaching me ever so slowly. I could only suppress a smile. _

"_Yes, if there is money to gain… After all, it's just good business…." I followed my statement up with a little smirk._

_That statement was the one to set him off._

"_Well, you can take your ill-gotten money an' shove it up your arse, because I'm ne'er goin' t' transport slaves!" _

"_So I understand that you freed the slaves that were your duty to transport."_

_He looked incredulous._

"_As a man wiv morals an' human decency, it was th' least I could do for them. Now, you, on the other hand…"_

_It was then that I threatened him. I forget exactly how I phrased it...perhaps in saying that his name would be defamed for good, or that he'd never work in another honest job with his traitorous reputation, something along those lines. A mistake._

_He pushed me roughly up against the desk, which I had to bend backwards over to avoid the dagger he pulled on me. I was never so certain that I was going to die. Needless to say, I was rendered breathless by his threat, yet I did not reveal my fear. _

_But without another word or the slice of the dagger which I thought was evident, he stormed out the door, which was followed by my collapsing onto the floor in utter astonishment. Later on that day I had him brought back to me, where I allowed him to watch as I set fire to his ship… and of course, I branded him a pirate. I follow through with my threats, unlike him…. _

"Did you hear me, you stupid cur?" Jack demanded, as he kicked at the grating, startling Beckett out of his reverie. "Can't you even hold your bloody water? I trust you're aware you're going to be scrubbing this until th' wood shines!"

Beckett weakly attempted to hold his head up, which had indentations of the metal grating decorating his forehead. Even though he was powerless from his point on the floor, he shot Jack a dangerous look.

"If you look at it from certain angles, the fluid already causes the wood to shine," Beckett retorted haughtily.

A look of pure rage appeared on Jack's face. Beckett flashed a smirk. _Why do I want to continue egging him on, when he's in this condition? Do I want him to kill me here and now?_

"You have only yourself and Mrs. Turner to blame for this, for not allowing me to relieve myself," he continued.

"I'm not takin' th' blame for your weak muscles. I think Jack th' _monkey_ would defeat you in holdin' th' same amount o' water."

"My piss is probably the cleanest thing that's ever touched your bloody ship," Beckett spat.

"That does it. Now you've gone too far." Jack was in a rare moment of utter rage, and there was no telling what he would do.

_This is it. He's going to kill me. I hope my death is quick. Just a single shot to the back of the head, and this will all be over. _

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Thank you, thank you, thank you wonderful reviewers! Hopefully you enjoyed this latest segment... Let me know what you think! There's going to be


	8. Back Talk

Warnings: this chapter contains a slight bit o' cursin', so ye be forewarned…

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Much to Beckett's surprise, Jack unlocked the cell and leapt on the captive's immobile body, turning him onto his stomach, pulling his arms roughly behind him, and shackling his wrists together securely. Jack's face was mere centimeters from his own, as Beckett lay flat on his belly, his hands useless behind him. The smell of rum and gruel entered his nostrils as he felt his stomach turn.

"Being as my legs are completely numb, you've no use going through all this trouble to restrain me," Beckett managed to say, squashed under the weight of Jack's body.

"'Twas 'lizabeth yesterday that wanted you punished, an' now it's me. That's certainly not a good outlook for you."

Elizabeth appeared in the brig, and saw Jack seated on Beckett's back, his head now raised back up.

"What happened?" she said, immediately concerned, as she raced towards the empty cell door.

"Our pris'ner here found it upon himself t' piss all o'er my ship, an' then to incur my usually very un-incurable wrath. I have taken it upon myself to get to this punishin' part early."

"I have spoken to Barbossa, and he would be more than willing to… administer the punishment today. Fancy I was just coming down to tell you that Barbossa is ready."

Jack leaned back onto his haunches, jerking Beckett's shackles upwards so that his back was arched the wrong way.

"Unless he keeps 'is mouth shut from this point on, I myself am angered enough at present to do some… administering… as well." He flashed a dangerous look at Beckett, who couldn't help but look at the ground at the angle at which he was being held.

"Very well, then. Let's bring him up."

Beckett looked over at her, arching his neck painfully, his eyes slightly wider than usual.

"Bring me up _where_?" he uttered, a touch of disdain in his voice. Jack relinquished his hold on the shackles, causing the top half of Beckett to fall forward, slamming his face and upper body on the floor.

Beckett heard something crack, probably his nose. _It's probably going to start to bleed soon. _Jack jerked the shackles back up again, allowing for Beckett to look over at Elizabeth, his eyes involuntarily watering from the injuring of his nose. His high tolerance for pain allowed him to avoid all verbal acknowledgement of how badly his nose was throbbing.

"You are going to be brought to the deck," she told him. Jack continued defining, rising to his feet as he attempted to lift Beckett's limp body via the shackles.

"An' just like the disobedient little _pissant_ you are, you're gonna be kissin' the gunner's daughter."

"What?"

_They're going to flog me? What kind of stupid punishment is _that_ for a man! Do they think this is going to change my ways, make me repentant? They'll see…._

Within a few seconds, Beckett collapsed on the floor again, his legs unable to support him.

"Wot's wrong wiv you? Stand up an' be a man!" Jack demanded, trying again to pull the captive to his feet.

"Because of your forcing me to stand all night, I have lost function of my legs," Beckett matter-of-factly replied.

"Well, let us hope his arse isn't numb," Elizabeth muttered angrily, entering the cell behind Jack.

Jack gave the disgraced lord's rump a rather forceful swat to both prod him forward and test the theory, causing Beckett to grunt and jerk his head up involuntarily.

"Good. 'S not numb. Now we've got to drag 'im up there. Mr. Gibbs!"

Gibbs soon descended the ladder and was present at their side in the cell.

"Uh, I do believe somethin' smells like—" he began, but was cut off by Jack.

"That smell came from Beckett. Th' grown man can't hold 'is own water."

"Ugh," Gibbs groaned, pinching his nose. "That be an awful stench."

Jack turned to face his crewmember. "We need your help, Mr. Gibbs. We find it highly appropriate to punish said man."

"Can he not walk?" Gibbs said, watching Beckett lying pitifully upon the floor, his legs motionless.

"He's bein' rather stubborn at present an' so we are in dire need of a third hand to get 'im up to th' deck. Also, we should remove his outer garments, for this coat is long enough to get in th' way…"

Beckett shot a poisonous glance at Jack at the idea of being stripped of his clothing. He turned his head to Elizabeth.

"You may as well run up now and tell the captain of the ship that it's going to be a while." His eyes shot over to Jack. "Because there is no way that you are going to get me to follow your plans."

Elizabeth just crossed her arms, looking angry, but Jack only looked slightly amused.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to _cut_ your clothes off you instead; fair enough." He pulled out a dagger, and signaled to Gibbs to restrain Beckett so that he was face-down on the ground. Gibbs did this very simply: by sitting astride Beckett's shoulders.

"Get off of me, you great oaf! You're going to break my back, or at least my arms!" Beckett shouted, unable to kick his legs about or move his arms, being as they were shackled behind him.

"If that's wot it takes, dear Beckett, then so be it," Jack shot, as he hunkered down next to Beckett's vainly writhing body. Before beginning to cut, he gave Beckett one more chance to avoid the situation. He spoke in his lengthy way.

"I rather find it incomprehensible that you would be so willin' to have your clothing destroyed in your attempts to rebel, knowin' full well that regardless if you fight it or not, you _will_ be disrobed, wiv or wivout retainin' th' integrity of your clothin'."

Beckett just looked at him stupidly for a second, his mouth open and lungs devoid of air from being crushed by Gibbs. After thinking for several seconds, he sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, facing straight ahead and laying his chin on the ground.

"Fine. Remove my coat intact, as you will," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"'An you're not going t' struggle once Gibbs relinquishes his hold?"

"No."

"No, what? You're gonna have to be more specific."

"No, I won't struggle. Just don't cut my clothing any more than you already have." He of course was referring to the rather large slit in his breeches from Jack's dagger yesterday.

"Then we 'ave an accord. Mr. Gibbs, you may stand up."

The First Mate quickly rose off of the small body below him, and stepped aside. Jack removed his shackles, and then stepped back to survey the situation.

"Alright, Beckett, remove your coat, if you please."

_Ha! As if I have a choice in the matter,_ Beckett mused, rolling first onto his side, and then into a seated position, to accommodate the request. Without looking at his captors, he shrugged the ruined coat off of his shoulders and off of his arms, placing it behind him, well away from the puddle in his cell. This exposed a buttoned long green velvet waistcoat, another article of clothing that would be in the way. He looked up at Jack with animosity.

"Remove that layer as well," Jack coolly commanded, gesturing to the article of clothing with his hand. Beckett could not help but let out a bored-sounding chuckle.

"Do you not know what this is called?" he said, indicating the waistcoat.

"Course I do," Jack stated, hesitating just long enough for Beckett to make another comment.

"I hadn't realized how long it's been since you've been a reputable member of society," Beckett replied.

Jack began waving his arms about angrily.

"It's a bloody waistcoat! I'm wearin' one meself, in case you failed to notice."

Beckett scanned Jack up and down, glancing disdainfully at his clothing from his position on the floor.

"I wouldn't even consider that in the _league_ of what one is supposed to look like."

Jack sneered at Beckett. I know you're jus' tryin' to stall th' inevitable, but let's get on wiv it; remove your _waistcoat_. Happy now?"

Soon Beckett was down to his shirt, breeches, hat, and knee-high boots. He had placed the two articles of clothing in a neat pile behind him. For a couple of seconds, nothing was done.

"They're waiting for us," Elizabeth urged, breaking the temporary silence.

"I'm thinkin' we ought t' shackle 'im in case this is all jus' an act," Gibbs added.

Beckett let out a loud sigh. "That will not be needed, I assure you. My legs are inoperative."

Jack spoke up. "Actually, Beckett, I consider it to be a rather good idea, jus' in case. Let's face it; you'd do the same to me."

"I'd do more than that," Beckett spitefully muttered under his breath.

Gibbs moved behind Beckett, shackles in hand.

"Now put your hands behind your back like a good boy," Jack said tauntingly. Beckett was not happy.

"You are going to have to _ask_ me to do so, in a much more respectful way, as a start."

"Well, seein' as how you agreed not to struggle after you were unshackled, I'd say you're bound to our earlier accord."

"I agreed not to _struggle_, but I didn't agree to comply with inane requests."

Jack picked up Beckett's clothing and walked over to the puddle, dangling the expensive items over it.

"Do you really want your clothes to be soiled? Jus' say the word, an' it shall be so."

Sighing deeply, Beckett put his arms behind him, and was thus shackled by Gibbs.

Gibbs and Jack walked to the front of Beckett, both slipping an arm under a shoulder. Soon Beckett was hoisted to his feet and carried from the cell, Elizabeth following closely behind. He was brought wordlessly to the main deck, where the crew was already assembled as if to witness some sort of execution. Upon sight of his powdered wig and the partial garb of a proper Englishman, the crowd began murmuring. Only some knew who exactly this disheveled man was, and they told their fellow crewmen immediately. Within mere moments, the entire ship was made aware that this captive was the former head of the East India Trading Company, a pirate's worst enemy, that he was the captain of the doomed _Endeavour_, and that somehow he was still alive.

"What's he doin' here?" one crewmember yelled, hidden behind scores of tattered pirates.

"He's s'posed to be dead!" Ragetti cried.

Beckett scanned the large crowd from his position between Jack and Gibbs. His armpits were starting to ache from the rough handling, but his legs were still useless to him, only able to emit a painful constant tingling sensation.

Barbossa turned to the men from his position by one of the ship's cannons decked out in his captain's garb. In his hand was a cat o' nine tails. A length of rope lay on the deck by his feet. He looked quite intimidating, even sinister.

_Oh, God. I've never underwent this sort of torment_, Beckett's anxious thoughts ran. _Granted, I've witnessed floggings several times, and they never relent until the pain is obvious._ _Although, why are they going about this with a cannon? I thought it customary to flog a man as he stood against something. Of course, pirates are heathens; they don't know propriety. _

Elizabeth noted Beckett's confused glance as she moved in front of him towards the crewmembers. _I imagine he's puzzled over the use of boys' punishment as his own. It's only suitable for him to be humiliated in this way._

As Beckett was pulled closer toward the cannon, Barbossa gave a short but ceremonious introduction.

"Here be Lord Cutler Beckett, former head o' the disgraced East India Tradin' Comp'ny, awaitin' 'is proper punishment." The crew muttered excitedly amongst themselves.

"—But, shouldn't that be death?" Pintel asked aloud, interjecting into Barbossa's speech.

Barbossa tsked. "He shan't learn 'is lesson from dyin'. That be the easy way out in his case. Now, ye mus' spare all yer questions until after th' punishin' session." He looked at Jack and Gibbs. "Bring the pris'ner forward."

Beckett wanted to puff out his chest and look as respectable as possible, but without the use of his legs he could only slump as he was dragged over to the cannon by the two pirates. Laughter rose from within the crew.

"Can't even use his own legs, can he?"

"Serves 'im right, livin' life now as an invalid!"

"The bloody wretch's wig is on backwards!"

Beckett tried to ignore the comments as he was held before the cannon.

"He's too petrified to even stand!"

Beckett couldn't take it anymore. He had to say something.

"That statement has no truth to it," he snapped, glaring at the man who had accused him of being petrifried.

As he finished his retort, he was thrust upon a short, stout cannon, banging his knees painfully against the iron of the butt of the gun. He sucked the air through his teeth, avoiding any vocalization, as Gibbs picked up the length of rope and used it to lash his legs to the base of the cannon, so that he was on his knees behind it. A wrist was unshackled quickly, and then his arms were twisted round so that his upper body was stretched out on the length of the cannon, wrists shackled beneath the barrel. The cannon was tilted at a slight downwards angle so that Beckett was in a prone position over the barrel of the cannon, his head angled down, chin resting on the barrel and rump positioned high in the air for the flogging. The jeers in the crowd grew louder as he cast his eyes toward the ground, noticing that Barbossa was still standing alongside him and not behind him as he would have thought. He heard his breathing quicken as he bided the moment when Barbossa would commence with the flogging.

What was said next sent chills through his entire body. "Lower 'is breeches," Barbossa commanded.

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I must warn you, the next chapter is the most disturbing chapter of this story. Thank you for all your reviews so far! You guys are awesome:) Please steel yourself for the next chapter, because it really is quite disturbing. Thanks again for your feedback, everyone!


	9. Kissing The Gunner's Daughter

To April: I wish I could have sent you a direct review reply, but here's my reasoning for why they are keeping Beckett:

Elizabeth wants her revenge. She didn't want him to die proudly on his ship with all his men around, floating on his own ensign. She wants Beckett to be ashamed of what he did. Granted, this may not be the best way, but Elizabeth is rather young and fueled by revenge and she may not think perfectly clearly.

As for Barbossa/Jack not killing him outright:

It was Elizabeth's original idea to fight the EITC, and of course, upon winning, they realize she was right, and they both have a lot of respect for her. She was the one who riled them up to fight, and took charge of the crew very bravely. They all listened to her orders. They aren't going to do something so brash against her wishes, especially since her wishes are not so different from their own: to make Beckett pay. They weren't the ones to see him floating initially, or else maybe they would have shot him on sight.

The handing over to the EITC is something Barbossa did mention, but of course it wouldn't wash away the pirates' own wickedness; that's not the point really. It's a threat to Beckett that he's going to have to face the music, and to shut him up for the time being. Maybe keeping him aboard would just allow for the EITC to not fire at will, knowing Beckett is on the _Black Pearl_. However, in further chapters, the naivety of this above statement is addressed. Of course, the fact that Elizabeth is so keen on the idea of Beckett being captive makes Barbossa think that she has a good reason for keeping him aboard, because he does respect her ideas.

Thanks for all your very thoughtful feedback. Please don't run away upon reading this chapter! I promise things will get better (however you'd like to interpret that!)!

Warnings: this chapter is the most violent an' disturbin' chapter o' the entire story, so ye be forewarned…

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Beckett's eyes widened and he gulped, uttering a weak "you can't be serious" that was probably only heard by the nearest crewmembers and Barbossa. Jack and Gibbs looked at the tall captain expectantly, and then proceeded to pull down Beckett's breeches. Beckett's naked backside was now exposed to the crew of the _Black Pearl_, as he remained in the humiliating position, unable to move or even attempt to move. Barbossa stepped behind him. The laughter continued, as Beckett's face turned a deeper and deeper shade of crimson.

"Tha's not enough," Barbossa stated loud and clear, from behind Beckett. "I want to see 'em restin' on the rope there by 'is knees. An' lift up 'is shirt." Jack and Gibbs pulled his pants down further and shirt up over his back, Beckett helpless to struggle. _Oh, I just want to die…._ His eyes downcast, the former lord squeezed his thighs tightly together so as to avoid exposing other things to the group of pirates. He could feel the intense heat in his face as the crowd continued murmuring, mocking him as they stood all around his place of restraint. Something more had to be said. He couldn't lose all dignity now, in such a humiliating state in front of his enemies.

"Every last one of you filthy heathens… Prepare your necks for the noose!" he sneered, scanning the crowd with eyes full of hatred. Jack Sparrow appeared off to his left side, looking at him with a sort of quiet respect, yet not stopping the other crewmates from jeering even as Beckett made his threat. His anger over the accident in the brig had been temporarily glossed over with negative memories of his own flogging.

Beckett continued shouting unabashedly. "You'll all hang for your wicked ways! I guarantee you th—AGHH!"

The tails whacked his bare skin, sending three terrible sensations throughout his body: stinging, burning, and nerve-numbing pain. He shut his eyes tightly as his face scrunched up from the sensations, his head and shoulders bucking painfully against their restraints. The jerking up of his legs caused even more pain from the rope digging into the undersides of his knees. Never had he experienced such an alarming, unexpected pain such as this. Even during the explosion of the _Endeavour_, he was numbed to any pain, only seeing the flames, hearing the loud blasts, and feeling the brief but intense heat. _It's going to be difficult to stand many more of these…._

Beckett had not wanted to utter a sound, but being whacked unexpectedly in the midst of a sentence caused him to react much more than he had intended. He heard the crowd jeering at him, mocking his outburst. His pride had been damaged, and he was enraged. However, he didn't want to speak any more, lest he yell out again in mid-sentence as before. He fell silent, awaiting the next stroke with closed lips and clenched teeth, staring down at the barrel of the cannon.

He had always been a stoic man, emotionless and never one to so much as raise his voice. At the final battle of his former life as a lord, he hadn't even so much as uttered a word of fear in the face of certain death. He had simply walked down the companionway one final time, feeling the smoothness of the oak railing beneath his palm, as cannonade blew away all signs of the staircase behind him; hadn't even flinched or attempted to avoid the flying shards and splinters. He possessed an uncanny ability to block unpleasantries from his mind: the sound of falling masts, deafening explosions, continual bombardment of the ship, and his men screaming as they plunged headfirst into the Caribbean Sea. The question remained: why was this affecting him so? Was it because he didn't know when to expect the next stroke? Or was it because his dignity had already been stripped from him both in the brig during the night, in front of the entire pirate crew as his backside was exposed, and for being tricked into bellowing aloud? He had to resist showing any emotion from this point forward… _Even if I don't cry out again, they will surely have to relent at some point. Mayhap…._

The next stroke came shortly thereafter, sending a jolting pain quickly throughout his body, for not only had he been struck again with the same intensity as before, but also the tails landed atop the stripings from the first stroke. He kept his mouth and eyes tightly shut during the influx of new pain, hearing a muffled animalistic sound coming through his teeth.

"What, don't ye have anythin' more t' say?" Barbossa said aloud, his question directed at Beckett. A burst of laughter followed. Even so, Barbossa was disappointed that his second stroke didn't elicit the same reaction from Beckett as the first.

Beckett opened his eyes, rage filling the features of his face. He set his mouth in a tight-lipped grimace and stared past the immediate crowd, towards the orange-tinted horizon of the morning. The horrid beginning of his first full day as a captive. Though adrenaline coursed through his veins, he forced his shoulders to sink back down to their position over the barrel of the gun.

Jack looked at his former employer struggling to keep his composure as he was subjected to the flogging. His stomach did some strange flip-flops watching this man of power writhe in his restraints, as the pirate crew laughed away. Certainly this was a humbling experience for Cutler Beckett. _Maybe I should've straightened his wig first, _he mused. Their captive had gone through so much already. _Hopefully Lizzie's gettin' somethin' outta this._ He glanced over at her from her position to Beckett's front. She was standing with arms crossed, wavy hair blowing off to the side as her face held a roguish yet satisfied expression.

As the flogging continued, Beckett's resolve began to crumble. The minutes passed by quickly as Beckett's bottom turned from milky white to an angry shade of purple. Probably fifty lashes had been administered by this point, with only mere seconds in between. Surely Barbossa had to be getting tired, but it was not reflected in the force of the strokes. Between strokes, Beckett watched the sun rise in the sky as the morning passed, proud of his resolve, but knowing there would be consequences if he continued to defy acknowledgement of the pain. However, that was solved shortly thereafter, when the strokes seemed to be administered even more forcefully than before. Soon, he couldn't help but buck helplessly against the restraints, unable to control the movements of his own body. He had since tuned out the jeers of the crowd, but only because the pain overtook his every sense.

With each stroke came a more pained grunt, barely held back by the gritting of his teeth and the biting of his now bloodied lip. He didn't want to cry out yet he didn't want to allow the flogging to continue until he'd forever lose the ability to sit. By his glancing around at the ground in front of him, he saw that Elizabeth was standing directly to his front, which thankfully meant she could not see his exposed end, yet she was probably able to see every expression on his face. The flogging let up long enough for him to gain perception of the jeering crowd about him; it was all over. He let a sigh hiss through his teeth. He hadn't even had to be reduced to tears. Slowly he raised his eyes to the level of Elizabeth's. She looked a bit concerned, but not unhappy. Eyes narrowed menacingly, he scowled at her with all the hatred he had in him, and once she noticed, she shook her head ever so slightly. Beckett could once again hear the whistle of the cat behind him.

As he shot Elizabeth a poisonous glance, he watched her move around his side so that she was now behind him. To him, she had now lost any sense of dignity, what with her scandalous choice to look upon the naked backside of a male superior.

The next whack was the severest one yet, eliciting a yelp from Beckett. He thought about speaking up again, demanding them to stop, but there was a good chance the blow would hit him mid-sentence again and he'd cry out. He kept his head down and tried to block out the voices of the crowd to no avail.

Again and again the tails landed. His bottom lip was so sore that he could no longer bite down on it, and a trickle of blood from his lip was now streaming down his chin. And to add to the fluids on his face, his eyes were now watering uncontrollably, some of the tears dripping down his cheeks and collecting on the underside of his throat. His backside was searing, painfully sensitive to even the sea wind billowing across it in between the strokes of the cat. His mind became a blur of pain and he could feel his resolve weakening every second he remained prostrate over the cannon, his backside scorching with pain.

Eventually Beckett gave up. With the next several strokes, he allowed for the yelps to bellow out of him, his entire body racking with silent sobs and him helpless to hold the tears back. Thankfully for him he wasn't crying loudly; however, his raspy breaths noticeably quivered as the tears spilled out of his eyes unabashedly now. Even his nose was running torrents of liquid over his lips. He pressed his face fully against the barrel of the cannon, no longer able to see the pirates around him, Elizabeth included, which meant that hopefully they in turn could not see him crying. _Thank goodness for my hat's protection through all of this_, he mused

And just as soon as he had thought about his hat, it was pulled off of his head. His head shot up immediately, eyes like daggers, to identify the offender—it was Barbossa.

"It seems here our pris'ner has been hidin' his feelin's 'neath his hat."

Beckett glowered up at him, his tears betraying the anger he felt. No doubt his face was mottled with red from crying. Barbossa noticed his angry stare and began _tsk_ing.

"Now, now, I didn't suppose ye wanted any more, but evidently I be mistaken." Tossing Beckett's hat carelessly overboard, he strode quickly to the back of Beckett once more, the clomping of his boots resonating on the deck. The cheers from the crowd were almost deafening. Beckett dropped his head again, realizing he had to say something before Barbossa started again.

"No, I don't want more," Beckett blurted, his voice wavering noticeably.

"I didn' get that impression from th' way ye be lookin' at me jus' a moment ago," Barbossa spat, swinging the cat around so that it emitted a high pitched whistle. Goosebumps spread along Beckett's skin like wildfire. _I need to end this torture now_.

"B-but it's true," he stammered, ignoring the taunts from the crowd.

"Quit yer blubberin'. If ye can look at me with a look o' true shame, only then will yer punishment be over. Until then—"

Suddenly the tails whacked him across the bare thighs, causing the disgraced lord to emit a pained wail as his head jerked up from the sting. He kept his eyes tightly shut, which caused the tears within them to spill over. He no longer cared. As quickly as possible, he positioned his head and shoulders back down across the barrel, preparing for the next stroke. He had to obey Barbossa, or this punishment would never end.

Again the cat struck him. He wept openly now, sniveling for all to see and hear. His tears had formed a deluge of water streaming down the tilted barrel of the cannon, and he watched the water drip off of the end onto the deck. He had been thoroughly humiliated and there was nothing he could do about it. Beckett's entire body was shaking with sobs and he had even started to be lax on holding his thighs together, which was giving the pirates behind him quite the scandalous view. One more stroke landed.

"Enough!" he cried aloud, sniffling and whimpering all the while. "Stop!" He heard Barbossa's footfalls on the wooden boards, and then saw Barbossa's boots in front of him. This time he kept his head down, lest he give the wrong impression.

"Ye think yer done now?" came the questioning voice of the tall captain.

"Y-yes," Beckett said quietly, barely above a whisper.

"I want ye t' look at me when yer talkin' t' me; anythin' else is downrigh' improper!"

Slowly, Beckett raised his head, his eyes the last to adjust to the height of Barbossa's face. He avoided looking at anyone else as his eyes made his way up Barbossa's body. His face held not a trace of anger. Instead, his eyes and nose were puffy and red, his face was mottled, and tear streaks covered his cheeks and chin. Along with the obvious signs that he had been crying, his eyes held a fear in them and he had let his mouth hang slightly open.

"So, d'ye think ye learnt yer lesson?"

Beckett swallowed hard, feeling a tear tickle his throat from the bobbing motion of his Adam's apple. "Yes," he stated plainly.

"Yes, _what_?" the captain demanded. His mind raced. What was he expected to say? Barbossa glared at him, eyes squinted.

"Y-yes, Sir," he choked out, his eyes falling at the word _Sir_, swallowing the revulsion he felt addressing such a man as a superior.

"An' what lesson have ye learned, pray tell?"

He gulped noticeably. _What am I here for again?_ His eyes were now downcast, because he could not bear to hold the gaze of the haughty captain that less than a day ago he would have been able to string up with no questions asked.

"A man tha' cannot look another man in th' eye's got somethin' t' hide," he heard Barbossa say. He collected his thoughts and looked back up at Barbossa, noticing that he was still holding the cat o' nine tails, which had a smattering of blood on it now.

He let his head fall and thighs completely spread at this point, ignoring the subsequent snickering of the pirates behind him. Barbossa cracked the cat o' nine tails, nearly scaring the daylights out of Beckett. He immediately looked back up at the tall captain.

"Le's have it, then," Barbossa ordered, an evil grin on his scarred face.

"I've learned to…" he stumbled, immediately cursing himself for leaving a lag. This certainly would earn him more stripes. "…to…." He could see that the anger was building again in Barbossa and that he was slapping the tails against the palm of his hand as he listened. _I'm going to be flogged again, I just know it..._

"I'm sorry," Beckett stated simply, his voice switching again to be ordinary, unwavering, as when he and Jack had spoken of Shipwreck Cove aboard his own ship…. Before he could visualize Barbossa's response, he closed his eyes and placed his face against the cannon again as the tears began flowing down his cheeks once more. He allowed for his upper body to sink to the ultimate low point, forehead resting upon the barrel of the cannon, the tail of the wig dangling in between his eyes, sopping up the liquid he had deposited on the cannon. His body shuddered with sobs as he heard Barbossa returning to a spot behind him. _Oh, God in Heaven, not again…._

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I realize this is not a nice place to leave you guys, but please review and you shall see a fast update!


	10. Discretion

Warnings: this chapter contains a bit o' cursin' an' may or may not contain some sexual innuendos, so ye be forewarned…

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Suddenly Beckett was being untied from the base of the cannon. His wrists were unshackled quickly and expertly by Gibbs, and although he was now free of restraint, he had lost the strength to lift himself off of the cannon. Elizabeth watched him as he remained prostrate over the cannon, free of all chains, yet not even attempting to pull himself up.

Jack had watched this entire lengthy yet pathetic scene unravel in front of him and felt a strange surge of pity welling up inside him. He went over to the disgraced former head of the EITC and pulled Beckett's shoulder back to help slide him back off of the cannon.

Elizabeth watched all this with interest. Beckett had not actually learned his lesson; that she could tell. _He couldn't even come up with one lousy lesson to have learned._ Of course, she'd find out for sure if he had gotten anything out of the experience later on, when he wasn't in direct danger of getting another stroke of the implement of punishment. _I'll find out then his true feelings._

Meanwhile, Jack had been able to get Beckett back up off the cannon slightly. Barbossa watched the other captain, feeling a rage building in his chest. _No wonder I staged a mutiny on Jack! It's this sort o' soft behavior tha' put us all in danger not once, but several times, under his supposed "command!"_

"Get away from 'im, Jack, he can take care o' himself," Barbossa growled, grabbing Jack's arm to pull him away. Jack allowed for the tall captain to pull him away, yet kept his eyes on the pitiful man still bending over the cannon. Barbossa gave a signal to a pair of crewmembers to remove Beckett from the premises.

It was then that two of the newest additions to the ship, Murtogg and Mullroy, came out of the crowd and hoisted Beckett up by the shoulders, giving the entire crew of the ship an unrestricted view of the nether regions of Lord Cutler Beckett. Beckett was so weak, he didn't even try to cover himself up as he was pulled back towards the ladder to the brig. His breeches were down around his knees, and another pirate yanked them off over his boots so that the burly pirates would not trip over the lengths of fabric that hung down below his feet.

"I can't believe it; his actually puts Will's to shame," Elizabeth whispered aloud, drowned out by the hoots and hollers from the crew due to Beckett's indecent exposure. Before she even registered what she had been saying, she had blurted out her opinion of Cutler Beckett's surprising anatomy. Her eyes wide as saucers, she gaped around her at the thankful lack of anyone who might have heard her. Her heart left her throat and settled back into her chest. Beckett also had an alarming amount of leg hair, given the only hair that she had ever seen on him was his powdered white wig. _What would cause me to even consider thinking these things, let alone saying them aloud?_ _Propriety be damned now_, she mused, the blood still emptied from her face.

Cutler Beckett was returned to the brig before he had even realized he had lost his breeches somewhere back up on deck. Murtogg and Mullroy gathered up the articles of clothing that he had formerly left in the brig from before the flogging, and took the clothing with them, under Elizabeth's orders. Beckett lie facedown on the urine-dampened boards of the brig, the burning in his backside not allowing for him to think of much more than intense scorching pain. _How did I manage to live through that?_ he mused, disgusted that he had to be reduced to tears in order for the punishment to stop. _Perhaps in a few years I'll be able to sit again_….

As the iron grated door of his cell clanged shut, he made a feeble attempt to identify the two men who had brought him to the brig. They seemed familiar to him, but his vision was blurred with tears. _That's too bad_, he mused. _I would like to have known their names so as to relay them to the executioner as they await their turn at the gallows…._

He soon was aware that he was still nude from the waist down, yet couldn't change position in order to attempt to cover himself more effectively without causing a flare of intense pain from his backside. Immediately he thought of the waistcoat and coat he had left along the back wall of the brig and lifted his head up to look at where he had placed them. They were gone! Before he could even deduce when and why his clothing had been taken, he heard the tromping of boots down the ladder, which indicated that soon yet another crewman would get to see his piteous position, lying half naked across his own wastewaters.

Beckett shot a poisonous glare at Jack Sparrow, who stood emotionless yet watched his change of expression intently, his own ripped and urine-stained breeches held delicately between two fingers, Jack's other hand hidden behind him. Oddly enough, the look that Jack was giving him seemed to hint slightly at sympathy. Beckett broke the mood with an expected remark.

"So what's the bloody holdup then? Am I getting those back at any point in the near future?" Beckett remarked, lifting a finger to point at the breeches.

Jack looked at Beckett as if surprised, then back at the breeches, as if he hadn't realized he had been holding them.

"Would it be these breeches you are referring to as 'them'?" he said as innocently as possible, gently raising them, watching Beckett's expression change to that of unabashed hatred.

"Yes, you blathering idiot; what else could I possibly have meant?"

"Now, now, Cutler, that's no way to win 'em over. You ought t' know that, seein'as you did plenty of arse-kissin' on your way up th' Comp'ny's ladder."

This only infuriated Beckett further, his face darkening to match the color of his exposed backside.

"Firstly, you will not address me as 'Cutler' like I'm some sort of equal. I will simply ignore you. And if you're expecting your arse to be kissed, you are sorely mistaken."

"Alright, Cutler," Jack said smoothly. "Guess you'll jus' have t' remain half-naked in your own excremen' 'til you get th' idea…."

Beckett strongly desired to ignore Jack's last remark, but he was getting desperate. Jack turned around, preparing to head out of the brig. As much as Beckett didn't want to admit it, he'd rather kiss Jack's arse than remain half-naked in the brig.

"What is it that you want from me?" Beckett cried. He attempted to lift his upper body off the floor by use of his hands, but the pain was severe. Jack spun around, a look of mock surprise on his face.

"Oh! I see that you got over your little vow o' silence quite quickly, _Cutler_. But to be perfectly frank, I want from you th' utmost _reverence_, an' all that it entails. Is that so much to ask?"

Beckett winced at the casual mention of his first name by a man who should be referring to him as 'Your Lordship,' 'Lord Beckett,' or at least 'sir.' He had to swallow his anger, at least for the time being. _Me, revere Sparrow? He can't be serious._

"How can you expect me to do anything in the state that I am in, no thanks to the _captain_ of the ship," the former lord coolly retorted, craning his neck up towards the deck, alluding to Jack's weakness in refusing to accept Barbossa as a bona fide captain.

"One of th' _two_ captains of th' ship, mind you," Jack said, watching a grin spread across Beckett's bloodied lips. "Well, seein' as you're lyin' upon th' floor, unable t' do much else…. You can scrub your…." He looked revolted as he glanced at the telltale puddle, shaking the hand holding the breeches to indicate the puddle— "substance… off th' floor. 'Course, this is mainly for _your_ benefit, seein' as this cell will be your home… indefinitely. Not much fun smellin' of _that_."

"And just _how_ am I going to do this?" Beckett said, turning his head to look around him at the bare cell.

"Don' you fret, Cutler; you'll have a scrub-brush an' a pail all your own." There was a lag in speech as Beckett seemed to be scheming something, for he stared intently at some spot near Jack's feet whilst painstakingly lifting his upper body propped up by his elbows. Before Jack could ask, Beckett spoke again.

"And will I be receiving my breeches, upon my agreement to partake of this job?"

Jack smiled back at him, gold teeth glistening from the specks of sunlight between the boards serving as patches for the hull.

"You're missin' one important fact here, mate. You're not, as you say, _agreeing_ to partake of said job." He smiled, relishing this moment. "You're doin' it 'cause I bloody well said so, savvy?"

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Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment!


	11. Curiosity

Warnings: there be a bit o' sexual innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

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Beckett looked at Jack, the shock and anger obvious in his eyes and a noticeable drop of his jaw. His entire body was shaking ever so slightly. It was unlike Jack to make these sorts of statements. His inability to hold his water on Jack's ship really had struck a nerve in the usually cool-headed captain.

"And what if I choose _not_ to indulge you? You can't force me to scrub this floor!"

Suddenly Jack's other arm emerged from behind his back. Held tightly in his grip was the cat o'nine tails.

"Need I explain further?" he remarked with a sneer, watching Beckett noticeably squirm as his gaze moved to the cat.

The disgraced lord swallowed hard, the implement of punishment so close and him a sitting – well, lying – duck. Jack took note of this change in Beckett's demeanor and allowed him more time to let it fully sink in.

"Once you scrub these floors, you will _then_ receive your breeches. It's not as if you could put 'em on at present, anyhow."

"I could drape them over myself, at the very least! To spare myself some dignity!"

"You shall spare said dignity only when you're not belly-down in your own waters, regardless of th' state of undress," Jack commented, idly flicking the cat about. Beckett let out an audible sigh.

"And what of my coat and waistcoat?" Beckett added, fire in his voice.

"Weren't they jus' there next to you?"

"They _were_, but as you can see are no longer present."

"Well, that's not my problem. They _were_ rather nice, albeit ruined, articles of gentlemanly clothing. I wouldn't be surprised if one o' me crew took an interest and swiped 'em durin' the floggin'."

Beckett's face turned crimson with rage.

"I obeyed your wishes so that the integrity of my clothing would be spared, just so someone else could take them as their own! You lied to me!"

Jack flinched. "I did not take your garments, an' I'm not gonna be held responsible for findin' them. Once you are mobile, you can go lookin' for them yourself."

"I believe we have already established that they are not in my cell, so what advantage is being mobile in my cell going to have? Are you going to let me out of this stinking cell to look for them?"

The captain raised a finger. "Now, now, _Cutler_, you're jumpin' t' conclusions," he slurred. "As of yet, I cannot define _mobile_ for you, because it has not yet been established wot th' long-term outcome o' th' morning's event is."

"And how will you be determining this long-term outcome, may I ask?"

"No, you may not."

The answer from Jack was very short and a bit unexpected to Beckett, who immediately remembered the initial reason for the conversation.

"—But what if the person who stole my clothing threw it overboard!"

Jack suddenly realized that they had returned to the boring subject of clothing once again.

"If that is th' case, then I'll keep a weather eye for floatin' clothin'…." He allowed his voice to drift off, and then lifted Cutler's breeches in the air. "So do you at least want your _breeches_ back at some point, or should I jus' throw 'em overboard meself?"

Beckett was seething, but he had to get at least this article of clothing back before someone took those as well.

"Very well. Give me the bloody scrub-brush and pail," Beckett spat quickly, half embarrassed by his own quick submission.

After hanging the cat from a nail near the stairs of the brig, Jack left to retrieve the cleaning supplies, carrying Beckett's breeches with him. On his way back he met up with Elizabeth, who gave him a questioning look at the sight of the brush and pail in hand.

"'s for Beckett," Jack stated simply, alleviating her concerns. "to clean—" he began to gesticulate wildly, not wanting to speak of the abomination. He sighed audibly with a smile at Elizabeth's nod of understanding.

She then glanced reproachfully at his other hand, which was daintily holding the breeches between forefinger and thumb.

"The infamous breeches," she said half-laughingly. Soon she grabbed her nose, distancing her upper body from the piece of the clothing. "They smell downright awful. Have you given him another pair?"

He sneered at her drunkenly, a twinkle in his eye. "I have done nothin' of th' sort."

Elizabeth let out a high-pitched laugh. "Are you telling me that he is lying down there, still exposed?"

"An' why is that relevant… Does th' lady want t' steal a peek?"

To his utter surprise, a flush began to appear on her cheeks, even as she said a resounding 'no, of course not.' _Elizabeth is quite insatiabl_e, he mused, his belly doing a flip-flop as he watched her glare at him, blush betraying her. _It's possible that she's not so smitten with Will after all…._

"If the lady should find herself needin' an an-aw-tomy lesson," he stated, stretching the word anatomy to sound regal, as he brushed past her with the lightest touch of his finger to her arm, "the offer still _stands_ here."

Smiling to himself, he descended to the brig, leaving a confused Elizabeth standing on deck, her mouth agape. _Would just a peek be cheating on Will? It would surely be humiliating to Beckett, which is a very good thing. Ten years is an awfully long time to do… well, nothing. _She frowned, shaking her head. _But I can't be feeling this way already! It's only been a day since he's been gone! Some wife I am! What is wrong with me? _Dazedly, she began to walk towards the quarterdeck, pondering. _Of course, if just seeing_ _another man's can be defined as cheating, then I've already done so by seeing Beckett's. _She sighed, looking off into the horizon. _Ten _years...

* * *

Thanks to the two reviewers for the last chapter! (I hope there are more this time….)


	12. Revelation

Warnings: there be innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

Jack returned to the brig with the scrub-brush, a small piece of soap, and a pail half-filled with seawater, and wordlessly unlocked the cell door so as to place the items in front of Beckett, who in the time he had been gone, had pulled his long white shirt down so that it covered everything thoroughly down to his knees. He was no longer indecent, yet still was humorous-looking, for it appeared as if he was wearing a dressing gown.

"I take it that cleaning supplies are difficult to find on your ship, Captain Sparrow?" Beckett shot as Jack locked the door, looking satisfied with his new level of decency.

"As a matter o' fact they are," Jack replied simply. "I have no use for 'em, being as th' members o' my crew are toilet-trained."

"I should have expected you'd say something like that," Beckett sighed. Jack half-grinned at him, watching him reach meekly for the scrub-brush.

The grin that had crossed Jack's face faded rapidly, with the look of cold unabated hatred emanating from Beckett. The captain tsked like a disappointed parent.

"Now, now, Cutler, it's this sort o' attitude that got you into this predicament in th' firs' place," he scolded, shaking his head.

"This predicament? What do you mean by that? Being taken captive? I'm sure that you heathens would have lunged at the chance to capture _any_ adversary, no matter how fair and good-natured he or she was."

"By predicament I of course meant your punishment aboard deck. Had you not been so… like yourself… you would probably still be wearin' your breeches _an'_ you'd be able to sit."

"Unlikely," Beckett spat. "Instead, you'd probably still have me chained to the grating, standing in my own waste, the crew standing and laughing at me all the while."

"Sounds better t' me to be standin' in my own waste than lyin' in it, mate."

Beckett scowled at him, ignoring the cleaning products. Jack noticed this, wanting to be able to leave Beckett and go aboard deck again to talk of the morning's main event with the crew – and Elizabeth. He was dying to know what she thought of the flogging.

"Aren't you goin' to be gettin' a move-on wiv the cleanin' then?" Jack said impatiently, fanning his face. "Th' stench is really gettin' to me."

"I'm not doing this to protect your delicate senses. I'm doing this to get my clothing back," Beckett growled.

"I don' currently see you doin' anythin' at all," was the response. "You'll get said clothing back after you've rendered th' cell sterile." He sneered at Beckett and hastily left the brig, Beckett's breeches still in hand.

Upon returning to the main deck, Jack tossed Beckett's pants underneath the barrel of a cannon, where it was well-hidden from the view of others. After ridding himself of the stinking fabric, he saw Elizabeth across the way, talking to several of the Singaporean crew. He sauntered over to join the conversation.

"Of course it was forced!" Elizabeth was saying to the foreign pirates. "I can sense insincerity a mile away!"

"Did I mention I missed you terribly during your outing yesterday?" Jack interrupted, flashing Elizabeth a suggestive grin.

"Jack and Beckett have more in common than meets the eye," she said half-laughingly to the pirates.

"I resent that," Jack replied, looking hurt.

"Anyway, Jack, I was just telling them how Beckett's little apology was contrived. He obviously just wanted the punishment to end. I still can't believe Barbossa went along with that act."

"Well, you coulda always taken up where Barbossa let off, luv."

"Believe me, I considered it, but he had Beckett's restraints removed before it was even obvious as to what his assessment of the apology was going to be."

"So, did it impress you?" Jack gave her a questioning, moderately serious look. _What could he possibly be referring to? _Her face involuntary reddened. _Is he referring to Beckett's… anatomy? Oh, God, he must have heard me…._

"What do you mean by that?" she ventured cautiously.

"You haven't th' faintest idea?" _Oh, kill me now. He knows!_ she mused, watching his expression lose some of its seriousness.

"No, as a matter of fact I do _not_, Captain Sparrow," she said as coolly as possible.

"Why the sudden formality? You _had_ to have thought that for a small man, he had a rather long—" he said breathily, watching to his great amusement, her face turning beet red. "—punishment." He smiled triumphantly.

Immediately she looked angry.

"Of course, surely everyone thought that!" she countered. "I admit, I was quite unnerved by his ability to withstand that many strokes with no more than a grunt."

The Singaporean men nodded in agreement. "I can't believe he take all that," one said in rather good English.

"He always seemed the stoic type," Elizabeth added, changing the subject. "Whilst _persuading_ him to give me the letters of marque, I at one point aimed a pistol at his forehead. He did not so much as blink."

"I can believe that," Jack said. "I recall threatenin' 'im o'er his desk many years ago, but he jus' stood there, as composed as e'er."

"I didn't realize you two had a past."

Jack laughed. "You make us soun' like lovers or somethin'. Th' fact is, I used t' work for th' man."

"Wait," she said, holding back her laughter unsuccessfully. The Singaporean pirates just gaped at him like he had suddenly materialized into Davy Jones in front of their eyes. "_You _worked for the East India Trading Company?" she cried.

Some nearby pirates turned around, hearing her accusation. Jack put a finger to his lips.

"Not a proud time in me life, mind you," he said under his breath. He spoke to Elizabeth and the Singaporeans simultaneously. "You can't go shoutin' this about to th' crew, savvy? It's not goin' t' do me reputation any good, an' it won' be helpin' yours when I find out. 'Twas a very short, very stupid period o' my youth."

"You'll have to tell me more about this, Jack," Elizabeth said, extremely curious.

"Don' you ever wonder how I became a pirate? You think I branded meself?" Jack asked. He pulled his sleeve up to reveal the brand, which she recognized immediately. "Tha's the work o' Beckett for you. An' the _Pearl_? 'Twas the _Wicked Wench_, my ship when I worked for th' Comp'ny. Beckett had her sunk, an' so I made my deal wiv Jones t' raise her from th' depths."

Realization settled over her as pieces of the puzzle came together. Finally he had explained some things about his past. She was still curious as to what sorts of tasks he had whilst he was employed by the company, however.

"Wow, your past makes so much more sense now," she said, giving him a nod of understanding. _All those problems with Jones, all over a bloody _ship. It disgusted her, but she didn't show it. She continued her questioning of Jack's past.

"But what of your actual employment then? What work did you do for the Company?"

"Uh, well, I cannot divulge that at th' moment or in any moment when anyone else should or could or may be around. Which would mean that I cannot tell you whilst aboard this ship. Not until we are alone, when not a livin' soul is nigh."

"That's going to be rather hard to manage," she replied, rather amused. "Because even if we went off alone in the longboat, there are bound to be fish swimming about under the water." She said the last part rather humorously, imagining the fish eavesdropping on their conversation. Her reverie was cut off by Jack speaking in a rather serious tone.

"_Exactly_, luv. A risk I cannot take at this point in me career. 'S bad enough that you four know about this unfortunate period o' my distant past, an' the result o' my ungainful employment. O' course, bad for you as _well_ as for me."

"Wait…. are you saying that fish can relay information?" she said, chuckling.

"Take a look a' Davy Jones. Bootstrap Bill. Fish through an' through."

"Point taken. Your story is probably not very interesting anyway." She crossed her arms, suddenly looking bored, her gaze focused out to sea. Jack could see right through her ruse.

"I see wot you're tryin' to do, an' I'm not fallin' for it. You can fool Captain Jack Sparrow once, but ne'er twice." He tried to think of a way to quickly get off the subject to one that was currently very important. "Don' you want to see Beckett?"

Elizabeth looked offended. "I should not want to see him in a state of indecency, thank you very much," she scoffed.

"Wasn't th' impression I was gettin' earlier," he said, nudging her shoulder suggestively as she seethed, wondering what all he knew. "But t' clear your conscience, he has covered himself wiv his shirt an' now appears t' simply be wearin' a dressing gown."

"And his… nether regions; they are covered?"

"Do dressin' gowns not cover th' nether regions? I had been under th' impression that they—"

"Alright. I will go see him then, if what you are saying is true." She still appeared to be suspicious.

"C'mon, Lizzie. Would I lie to you about somethin' as trivial as this?" He looked sincere enough to convince her, though she knew better not to try to read anything he did as sincere.

She left Jack standing with the Singaporean men, as she descended the ladder to the brig of the _Pearl _with a plate full of gruel and a mug of water. Cutler Beckett had been staring expectantly at the entrance to the brig, propped up sideways on one elbow, his other hand languidly rubbing the scrub-brush on the floor. When he saw her emerge, an instant scowl crossed his face. Jack had not been lying; Beckett _was_ decently covered.

"I see that Jack is keeping you busy," she told him, her expression unfazed, as she unlocked the door to his cell, food and drink in hand.

"I am only following his orders so that I can get the remainder of my clothing back." He gave her a knowing glance. "For the time being, however, I'm requesting that you grant me the return of my coat and waistcoat."

She saw that he was only wearing his shirt, wig, and boots. Obviously the men had removed the clothing from the cell in time. Quickly she placed the plate and mug on the ground near him.

She contorted her eyebrows in an expression of innocent confusion.

"Where are they?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"I thought that you might divulge that piece of information," he replied coolly.

She looked disinterested and mildly disgusted.

"What would I want with your men's clothing? It's of no use to me!"

He sighed. "Of course my clothing would be of no use to you, but if you disposed of it, it would no longer be of use to _me_. Isn't that your ultimate goal, to make my life as miserable as possible?"

"I thought I made my goals for you quite clear earlier."

Beckett sighed, tossing the scrub-brush carelessly into the pail.

"Well, after being made to eat garbage, to lose complete sensation in my legs, to piss myself out of your neglect for my basic human necessities, and then finally to be rendered incapable of ever sitting properly again, I had been under the distinct impression that you intend to cause me misery until I relent."

"All that you've went through is trivial compared to what you did to me and Will! You arrested us; you destroyed our wedding day; you separated Will and me by sending him on a wild-goose chase to find a stupid compass; you arrested my father; and then to top it all off, you killed my father, taking him from me forever without so much as a reason why."

"Save for the last act, all of my past deeds are quite mild and cannot even be compared to this out-and-out torture."

"That last 'act' as you call it, trumps all that you have went through," she snarled. "After all, you're still alive, unlike my father."

Ignoring her last statement, he suddenly looked thoughtful. "That reminds me," he said. "Where _is_ our mutual friend Mr. Turner? I didn't notice him earlier today."

"Don't try to change the subject. And I am certain that he does not consider you a friend."

"How can you be so sure of that? Before I can believe that statement, I would like to hear that from Mr. Turner himself. Won't you fetch him, to end the suspense?"

"He's busy right now," she said, an honest statement. No doubt he was probably working overtime ferrying the _Endeavour_'s dead to the next world.

"Is he even _on_ the ship?" Beckett suddenly spat, surprising her a bit.

"That is none of your concern," she retorted, leaving the cell and locking the door behind her. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this conversation. Now that she was on the defensive, there was more of a chance that she would simply leave.

"Why did you come down here, besides to poison me with this so-called food?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I came down here to evaluate whether your tearful display on deck was genuine. And I was correct; it was not."

He laughed spitefully, dipping his hand in the pail again to find the scrub-brush.

"Did you really believe that a flogging was all it was going to take to break me?"

"No, in fact I did not. But maybe I should exercise precaution and let you have another round, just to be certain."

He grimaced, pulling the scrub-brush out of the pail and examining it in his hand.

"Well, you'd have to let Barbossa rest his arm up first. Seeing as how the rest of you lot, who actually have directed grievances against me, are all talk and no action."

"Are you challenging me?" she said, the pitch and volume of her voice noticeably higher.

He rolled his eyes, attempting to mask the surge of fear that rose into his throat. _I cannot take even one more stroke right now, regardless of who administers it_._ I do sense at this point I would be apt to bellow._ He directed his eyes to the ground, his face expressionless.

"No, I am not. Forget I ever said that," he mumbled, staring at the ground. Now he felt incredibly stupid.

"Ha!" she shouted, causing him to jerk his head up to look at her. "It seems to me that you're the one who should be labeled as 'all talk and no action.' I can sense your fear from here!"

_If I say something defiant again, I know it's going to result in further punishment_. _I need to let her think she's won… for now. I must swallow my pride for her to abandon this plan._

"I am certainly aware that you are a woman of action. I apologize for my earlier statement, which was contrived out of pure resentment, and nothing more."

"So you admit to being unable to follow through with your threats," she stated triumphantly.

He sighed, hating the feeling of having to acquiesce, even though it ultimately benefited him.

"Yes, I admit it."

Instead of gloating like he had thought she would be doing at this point, Elizabeth looked skeptical, and more closely approached the grating of his cell, placing her hands on the metal.

"A likely admission! You're going to have to at least look me in the eye if you think I'm going to believe that your confession is genuine."

Faking an apology was much easier when looking away, but he knew she'd more than likely be able to read his eyes if he was forced to look at her. _It would probably be easier to set my teeth for a continuation of the flogging than to deal with this._

Beckett must have mulled over his next step for slightly longer than desired, because Elizabeth made a movement towards the cat o' nine tails. The captive's head shot up as he saw her pull it from the nail and snap it into her hands.

"That really won't be necessary," he said quietly, feeling a quivering going through his legs.

"You're not sorry! You can't even conjure a realistic-_looking_ apology to avoid this, and so this must be done."

At the sight of her moving towards the cell door with the cat o' nine tails, Beckett contorted his body so that he was on his hands and knees, facing the door. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks, shocked. _Is he actually preparing to be punished?_

* * *

Wow, was I ever so happy about all the reviews for last chapter! And to show my happiness, I decided to post this chapter much earlier than I was originally going to (usually I do so in the dead of the night)! Please remember this for next chapter! hint hint


	13. The Cat's Out Of The Bag

Warnings: this chapter be disturbin' an' a bit more, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

She stood in front of the door, staring down at his face, in case he should look up at her and divulge the purpose for this sudden move.

Beckett looked up at her from his lowly position, his face expressionless but eyes defiant. Suddenly, he leaned back onto his haunches, and using the cell door to steady himself, rose shakily to his feet. He stood proudly and straight-backed on the opposite side of the door, face-to-face with Elizabeth.

Though he was dressed foolishly, only in his long billowy white shirt, tall shiny black boots, and backwards powdered wig infused with kelp, he still looked formidable. His stony countenance was beginning to unnerve her. Where had she put her sword?

Beckett had noticed that Elizabeth was defenseless, but for the cat o'nine tails. _If I can will myself to stand, I'll be able to easily wrest it from her if need be_. Once he was able to get onto his knees, the rest of the process was simple. _Try to come in here now_, he mused, standing eye-to-eye with her, feeling strength build within him once again.

Her expression at first was that of shock, fading into one of moderate annoyance at his rebellious actions. He just stared at her from the other side of the door, daring her to enter.

Suddenly she remembered. She reached into one of her boots and pulled out a dainty yet functioning pistol. In no time, it was aimed directly between Beckett's eyes.

He didn't even blink at the new threat to his life. He just stood there, a small crooked smile playing on his face. Without averting his eyes, he reached up and straightened his wig so that it was on correctly.

"I fail to see what's so funny, Beckett."

His smile expanded over the entirety of his mouth.

"Weapons such as those no longer faze me," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I am well-aware that you're not going to end my life in the near future, that is, until I have _learned my lesson_. You do realize it's quite the hollow threat."

"Is it, now?" Elizabeth retorted, robotically aiming instead at his feet. He immediately looked down at the gun's new position to see that perhaps she _was_ capable of causing a non-fatal gunshot wound.

"But what if you miss?" he said, looking again at her face. "There could be crew lurking below us in the hold. Either you shoot a crewmember, or you'll shoot a hole in the ship and doom Sparrow's dear _Black Pearl_ to the depths once again."

"Don't worry; I won't miss," she said, cocking the weapon, her aim true and unwavering. He thought about shifting his feet, but it wouldn't make a difference at the moment. It would only confirm his fear that she was capable of shooting him.

There'd be no chance to get out of the way once she fired the weapon. The gun was far too close to the target for it to stand a chance. Both were aware of the fact.

As Elizabeth looked at Beckett's foot before she would be blowing it to pieces, he spoke up.

"Alright. You win," he said softly, looking at his foot, which was thankfully still intact.

"What was that again?"

"You heard me."

She seethed. "I'm not much of a good shot from a distance, but I can assure you I will not miss my target from here."

"I'll have to remember your admission of bad marksmanship, in case it should prove useful at some point."

"You won't have to remember that if I cripple you now. You'll be unable to travel _any_ distance away."

"Alright, alright," he snapped, holding his hands up in surrender. "You win. You do pose a very real threat. I am aware that you are capable of shooting me without a second thought."

"If this is indeed true, then walk over to the opposite wall and place your hands on the grating."

His face held a look of confusion and suspicion, and his mouth opened slightly.

"And _why_ would I do that, pray tell?"

"As a form of repentance for your continued defiance of everything I've said to you."

"And what if I choose _not_ to do so?"

She scoffed.

"Again you defy me! Well, that's simple. You'll be reduced to having only one intact foot."

Beckett let out a loud, annoyed sigh.

"Haven't we played this asinine game before? I agreed to comply with Jack in order to keep my clothes intact, and yet they were taken from me anyway."

"Well, I don't think your foot is in danger of being taken whilst it is in your possession," Elizabeth replied, smirking. "It's just the question of whether or not you wish it to remain functional."

He looked crestfallen. "So are you telling me that I _have_ to comply or else—

"Or else I will shoot you where you stand. Literally." She enjoyed her own remark. "It's the least you could do as an act of penance for your unending insolence."

"Then what was the purpose of the earlier—"

"It apparently meant nothing, by the way you're acting now."

"Are there any other options?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I cannot think of anything else at the moment, so this will have to do for now."

He continued to stay put, looking at her for a sign that perhaps she'd give up the fight to do this… humiliating thing to him. He had to clarify some things before he was prepared to just get it over with. The heat seemed to rush to his face as well as other odd places, as he diverted his gaze from her.

"I refuse to be made indecent again," he mumbled, agitated and face flushed, staring at the floor.

Something squirmed deep within her at the picture that immediately flashed into her head. "Of course I would not expect you to lift or to remove your shirt."

_How awful could it be?_ _She's just going to harass me until I comply. _He hesitated for a second more, and then begrudgingly turned around and headed for the opposite wall. Upon reaching it, he placed his hands upon it, gripping the grating between his fingers.

"Move your feet away from the grating more, so that you are at an angle," she said, unlocking the cell door and stepping inside.

He looked so foolish! Though his wig was now righted on his head, the combination of his black knee-high boots and white knee-length linen shirt, dotted along the bottom with spatters of blood from earlier, was actually quite humorous. Besides the bubbling of laughter that barely remained inside of her, she quite enjoyed the feeling of dominating over her enemy.

Slowly Beckett edged his feet away from the grating so that he was now leaning into the grating with his arms bent at the elbows. He was too disgusted to look at her now, and instead focused on a particularly poorly repaired breach in the hull a distance away. He heard her shoes approaching him steadily, and let out a sigh.

"How many strokes do you think you deserve for your insolence?" she said from somewhere close behind him.

He merely scoffed.

"I've done what you've told me. You did not mention me needing to do anything else."

He began to right himself, but his motion was cut short by a sharp licking of the tails on his calf.

"I believe I asked you a question," she said more loudly, flicking the cat so as to cause a crisp snapping sound. He flinched slightly at the sound, but otherwise remained silent. It took several more seconds before he responded with a noisy outtake of air, still refusing to look at her.

"I would have to say, the minimal amount of strokes sufficient to prevent my being shot."

"I want you to give me a number."

Another extended pause.

"Well?"

"I don't know. What about five."

"Five?" Her tone was scornful, mocking.

He sighed. "Alright. Ten."

"Ten." She sounded unimpressed.

"Isn't that what I just said? I can't read your mind, you know."

"Ten it is then. Prepare yourself. Space your hands wider apart."

After placing his hands further apart on the grating, he soon heard the sound of the cat swishing rather loudly. _She's actually going to do it… but where will the stroke land?_

The question was answered only milliseconds later, as the blow landed sharply across his shoulders, temporarily overpowering the pain in his backside. The presence of his shirt dampened the sting of the stroke, but it had still smarted quite a bit. He hadn't made a sound in the process.

Before he had fully recovered from the unexpectedness of the first stroke, another landed expertly in the exact region of the first, causing him to arch his back and shut his eyes, thankful that she could not see his face. He fidgeted his feet around a bit to get a less painful angle.

Four more strokes fell upon his back, and he uttered not a grunt in the process, only a change in the preference of the foot on which to apply more weight. Thankfully he still had a choice in the matter.

When it came time for the seventh stroke, he awaited with jaw set, imagining her holding the gun to his back before each hit. _That's probably why she's not putting her full weight into it, not that there's much weight to contribute_._ This is laughable. I rather prefer this to the captain's treatment above deck. Much less painful and much more… oh, what's the word for it…._

This time, however, the blow landed squarely across his backside, causing him to hiss as he sucked air through his teeth, his feet doing an involuntarily little dance all the while he squirmed uneasily against the grating, mind-numbing pain flooding his body. _I certainly can't read her mind, but perhaps she is able to read mine. I need to stop thinking._

The next stroke cut him across the upper back, the tips of the tails licking the sensitive flesh underneath his armpit. He involuntarily emitted another pained hiss, and condemned himself for acknowledging the pain.

Elizabeth watched Beckett's reactions with great interest, watching the motion of his back muscles under his shirt as he winced from the various lashes. His shoulders, though not very broad, tapered down to a narrow waist and hips, the sticky sweat drenching his back, at least, making his shirt cling to his skin. In the region of his shoulders, his white shirt was almost rendered transparent. Strands of dark hair poked out from under the white wig, and the back of his neck glistened with perspiration. Watching the back of Beckett squirm and writhe about as he took the lashes that she gave was disconcerting to her, to say the least. _Am I enjoying this?_ she found herself wondering, almost aloud. The fact that the thought had even occurred, and that she had mulled over it, confirmed her opinion of the rather intimate flogging.

The following stroke landed on his backside, resulting in a grunt, an arching of the back and a lifting then dropping of Beckett's head as he struggled to again open his eyes. Chills had begun to run up and down his spine. _Which one is this?_ he mused, fearful that soon his eyes would be watering. It was actually worse to have full range of motion rather than being tied securely, for every single minute reaction to every nuance of pain shooting through his body could be seen.

He glanced behind him, shooting a fleeting glance of disbelief at Elizabeth, who was standing behind him, gripping the cat o' nine tails, her chest heaving with exertion. That last stroke had really smarted. The feeling he had when being flogged by Elizabeth, even now that she was really laying on the blows, was very different than with Barbossa. There was another element there that made him feel scandalous in a way, not that that was an entirely bad thing….

Elizabeth immediately noticed him looking in her direction, though he had tried very hard not to make it seem so. His eyes were wide and face was shiny, most likely with sweat. This wide-eyed gaze from her captive made him look quite boyish –at this moment, he looked younger than Will!— which quite unnerved Elizabeth, who suddenly found herself grasping for words.

"That's number nine," she said, positioning the tails in her hand once again, the pistol in her left hand quickly resuming its aim at Beckett. He whipped his head around wordlessly, face feeling hot, embarrassed that she had most likely saw the way he had looked at her.

Elizabeth had to make this last stroke memorable for Beckett. She stepped back quietly almost to the other side of the cell, tucked her pistol into her breeches, and ran towards the awaiting Beckett to gain ample momentum for the last stroke. Upon reaching her target, her feet did a skip and then she struck Beckett's backside with her entire weight behind her, as well as the momentum she had gained from the run.

The last stroke was so powerful and painful upon hitting Beckett's backside that it caused his hips to arch forward far enough that he lost his balance and fell to his knees, pulling his hands painfully from the grating in the process, for they had been holding onto the grate with an ironclad grip. In addition to his crumpling to floor he had also inadvertently let out a prolonged groan of pain.

As Elizabeth glared at the back of her captive triumphantly, noting the tattering of his shirt in the regions of his backside and shoulders, he leaned his forehead against the grating, hands placed on the grating on either side of his head.

She had caused him humiliation not once, but twice. How embarrassing it was to be reduced to kneeling in front of a grate like a slave begging for table scraps! He wanted very much to stand up again, but upon feeling the sharp ache emanating from his kneecaps striking the solid boards, he reconsidered. _I'll probably just collapse again, adding to my utter anguish. I think I shall just remain here until I am left alone. _His eyes had involuntarily teared up upon the last stroke, yet he was holding them at bay quite successfully under his tightly shut lids.

Without saying a word, Elizabeth left the cell, locking the door behind her and watching Beckett still remaining on the opposite side of the cell, no doubt too embarrassed to think.

_I can't believe I just did that. What came over me? Well, if I say anything, it'll only anger him into defiance again. I'll just leave him to his thoughts. I must say, he took that with not so much as an insult. Maybe something's finally gotten through to him. _

Retiring the cat to the nail again, Elizabeth wordlessly left the brig, leaving Beckett on his knees in the wake of the flogging.

Upon exiting the brig, breathing a little heavier than possible, Elizabeth walked right into Jack, who had been making his way down there himself.

"I was beginnin' to think that somethin' had happened t' you, Lizzie, an' was comin' t' check up on things." He noticed her slightly labored breathing. "Wot's wrong? Did he rough you up or somethin'? You're breathin' wiv such… exertion."

"No, that is not the case."

"Then wot is it? You do look quite pleased wiv yourself. Did Will return for a bit o'—"

"No, he did not," she interrupted. "If it _had_ been Will, I'd be a great deal more pleased with myself at the moment."

"Then wot is it? It mus' be somethin'. Did you an' _Beckett_—"

"Why don't you go and see for yourself, Jack?" she told him teasingly. Frenzied thoughts ran through his head. _Could they have…? Nah, she loathes him far too much… But…then what happened down there?_ _That was quite a while. _The temptation to see what she had done to Beckett was too great to bear. Besides, he had caught the tail end of Elizabeth's comment about Beckett above deck and realized that devoted to Will or not, her eye was still roving. _I figured the eunuch to be rather unimpressive_, he mused.

"I think I shall traverse to th' brig an' uncover for meself wot your earlier proceedings wiv Beckett consisted of, exactly."

She grabbed his arm with her slender pale hand. "Wait a few minutes before going down there. I don't want him to think that I sent you down right away."

He stood there, sort of gawking at her for about a minute, and then wrested out of her grip and proceeded to the brig. He did not have a sliver of willpower, in this case.

_Oh, bugger._ There was Beckett, on his knees, clinging to the grating of the cell, his head hanging. His white linen shirt was torn to tatters in several places, notably the backside and shoulders, but there was also a tear across his upper back. Some of the tatters were stained with blood. Beckett was breathing heavily, still trying to regain his composure. Although he was generally quite tolerant of pain and impervious to negativity during his life as a lord, the quantity and intensity of the strokes he had unexpectedly received today were just too much to bear. He had tried in vain to move from this position, but his backside would have no part of it and would sear inexplicably whenever he tried to move any part of the lower half of his body.

Jack elected to stay quiet for the time being and just to observe Beckett in his all his pitiful glory. _Lizzie probably didn' even let him finish his job cleanin'_, he mused. _Eh, it's all for the better that he's been reduced to shambles. Then again, it doesn't smell anymore. That's_ two_ members of th' ship that have successfully humiliated him. Next will be my turn. But not now, of course…. I think I'm actually feelin' sorry for the bloke…. _

Cutler Beckett let out a long sigh from his position against the grating. He had not heard Jack descend into the brig, and was still weighing out exactly how to move out of this piteous position with the least amount of pain.

Jack wanted to get a sneakier angle on the inaction of Beckett in his cell, an angle where he'd be better hidden by the darkness. He started to move towards a dark corner of the dank room, forgetting about a particular perpetually squeaky floorboard, and then he was upon it, and Beckett was made aware of another presence in the room.

* * *

I hate to admit it, but I really liked writing this chapter... I guess imagining that sort of scenario does it for me, or else why would I bother writing it? Hehehe, well, hopefully more of you like it (whether admittingly or not).

Hey! Many thanks to the two reviewers of the last chapter! If it weren't for you guys, I wasn't going to update for another 12 hours! Do you guys like the pre-chapter warnings, or do you think they reveal too much? What do you guys think of characterizations? It's up to you guys to make sure I stay on the right track with keeping characters in-character as well as making the chapters readable/able to be visualized. Please let me know, everyone! Good or bad thoughts!


	14. A New Heading

Warnings: there be jus' a hint o' bodily function in this chapter, nothin' too shockin', so ye be forewarned….

* * *

Suddenly Beckett was looking back towards Jack, who had not been able to reach the darkened corner and so was obvious. He said not a word, but was far enough away that his expression couldn't be read.

"So, how's th' scrubbin' comin' along?" Jack said, stepping closer towards the cell a bit sheepishly, noting that Beckett's face did not hold a look of anger or even annoyance. He wasn't answering him, however.

"I need to use… the facilities," Beckett stammered, turning back to face the grating, allowing his hands to fall loosely at his sides.

"Very well. I can direct you to a gun-port, or if you need th' head for… other reasons, well, besides the impossibility on th' bowsprit, there's only th' one, an' that's in my quarters." He looked unnerved at having to bring his worst enemy into his own quarters, although he had been in Beckett's several times.

"Just the gun-port for now," murmured Beckett. Jack went over to the cell door and unlocked it.

"May I have my breeches back now," Beckett said quietly, not moving from his position. Jack had expected this, and it did seem as if Beckett had finished the job, for it no longer smelled of urine.

"Have you done th' job to my liking?"

"If I hadn't done so I certainly wouldn't be asking for my breeches back," was the reply.

"Well, being as the… smell is now gone, indicative of your performin' your task fully, I shall grant you th' return of your breeches."

He stood and watched Beckett, who had not moved or said anything else. It really was quite strange to see the head of the East India Trading Company in such a state. After what seemed like a period of several silent minutes, the captive broke the silence.

"My breeches," he said expectantly, holding an arm out to the side, still facing the grating.

"Ah, tha's right. Let me go fetch 'em from the deck."

* * *

Upon returning, Jack noticed that Beckett was now standing against the grating, more than likely his grip on the grating the main force holding him up. He unlocked the door and entered the cell slowly.

The captive turned around slowly to face Jack, who was now standing opposite him by the cell door, holding his breeches between two fingers of his right hand. He thrust out his arm wordlessly, using his other arm to brace himself against the grating, lest he lose his balance.

Jack stepped forward and held out his arm for Beckett to take his clothing. This he did very quickly.

"Now, do you wish to dress first or to use th'—"

"The latter. However, I am going to carry these with me," he said, indicating the breeches, "in case someone should wish to take them."

"That I highly doubt. They really do smell awful. Maybe you should consider dunkin' in them into th' pail to remove the stench."

"I am considering that," Beckett drawled.

* * *

Jack led the way for Beckett to follow him to what wasn't exactly a gun-port, but a breech in the hull that had been too large to fully patch, and so it was rendered into a gun-port by rounding out the edges.

Beckett walked along the edge of the cell slowly, his body obviously in great pain, yet his face not showing what the stiffening of every muscle in his back and legs made obvious. Upon finally reaching the so-called gun-port, he let out a bemused chuckle.

"Is this what you call a gun-port on your ship, Sparrow?"

Jack smiled. "The '_Pearl_ has ample gun-ports, but since that'd mean you'd have to climb to th' gun deck above, I figured it'd be simpler for you to jus' utilize this makeshift facility here."

He stepped up to the aperture, which occasionally sloshed in a fair amount of water, and felt nauseous, a feeling of which he was not familiar.

"Do you mind," he said to Sparrow, obviously implying that he wanted his privacy.

"Not at all." Jack stepped back towards the ladder, turning to look up towards the light streaming from the grating that made up half of the ceiling in the brig.

After Beckett was done he walked back towards the entrance to the cell, the quiet clomping of his boots on the wood notifying Jack as to the completion of the action.

The weather had become quite windy and on the verge of a storm, which made the waters choppy and turbulent. The _Black Pearl,_ a heavy ship as it was, was not noticeably affected by the waves, but the brig took every hit from the sea, being as it was very near the bottom of the ship.

Beckett staggered over to the entrance of the cell and went in without another word. _Of course, I am not able to sit. I should probably attempt to get my breeches on before I do anything else._

Jack locked the door and left the brig as Beckett leaned his body against the corner of the cell, attempting to lift his leg into the shrunken breeches.

The captain could have sworn he heard a muted 'thank you' coming from the brig, one that sounded genuine. Could Beckett have actually turned a corner?

_It would probably be best to soak them in the pail first_, Beckett mused. With that he dropped the breeches down into the saltwater of the pail, and held on to the grating with one hand as he sunk to one knee, and then both. Soon his was lying on his belly, fighting the waves of nausea. _This can't possibly be due to the sudden turn in weather_, he thought. _I've been in storms that dwarf this. Maybe it's just hunger pangs. _He looked over at the semi-edible food that Elizabeth had left. _Bloody hell_, he mused. _I'd rather starve to death._

* * *

Jack, Barbossa, Elizabeth and Gibbs all convened in the captain's quarters to speak of what to do next. It was a nice escape from the torrents of rain now pouring upon the ship.

"I be thinkin' tha' we should make port in Tortuga to pick up some much needed supplies," Barbossa recommended.

"Aye, like rum," added Jack.

Gibbs nodded enthusiastically, and then made a suggestion.

"We be needin' more hardtack an' salted meats," he said. "Gettin' awful tired o' gruel."

"Also, some poultices, turpentine, and bandages would also be of use. Several of the crew were wounded in the battle with the _Dutchman_," Elizabeth contributed. She had noticed several crew members nursing unseen wounds on their arms and legs, their pants covered with dried blood. Beckett had to be hurting as well by this point.

"An' of course we can't forget about needin' to repair th' sails," Jack added. "Quite soon I fear they'll be useless for anythin' but helpin' our enemies identify us."

"What about the East India Trading Company? Do you think they'll be waiting for us in Tortuga?"

Jack looked at Elizabeth. "Surely they've all went their separate ways, seein' as how th' _Dutchman_ is now on our side. By the time we reach Tortuga, it will have been several days since th' battle. 'S not enough whores and drink there t' interest a man o' th' Comp'ny for that long."

"But what if not? We'll be a sittin' duck, what with our sails torn t' shreds." Gibbs was obviously nervous with this possibility.

"That be an easy thing to prevent," Barbossa answered. "We leave th' ship far enough offshore, an' head over by longboat. That way they won't be spottin' us."

"But who will stay wiv th' ship?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"You, me; makes no diff'rence," was the reply from Barbossa.

Jack sighed exasperatingly, realizing that if he left his ship again with Barbossa, it would certainly be stolen from him once more. _Another Tortuga visit wivout the company of a woman, or two… I'll probably ne'er be able to step onto land again wiv Barbossa around. I do believe I've taken up Davy Jones's curse meself, save for the cutting out my heart and the ferrying o' dead souls parts o' it… ._

"I shall stay aboard the _Pearl_," Jack said sighingly. Barbossa shot him a look of triumph.

"Now'd be the time t' drop off some o' th' Singaporean crew as well," Gibbs added. "Our crew be runnin' out o' space in the forecastle, an' some of the Singaporeans seem anxious t' leave anyway."

"Very well then," Barbossa said, "Tortuga it shall be."

"Now, wait a minute here, Hector," Jack countered, referring to Barbossa by his first name. "As captain of the _Pearl_, it's _my_ duty to say where an' when an' _what_ we'll be doing."

"'Twas my ship fer a decade. I'd come to believin' ye'd retired tha' prospect fer good when ye let me do th' work on Mr. Beckett fer ye."

"I did nothin' of the sort. It's still my ship."

"Our ship, t' say the least," Barbossa retorted quickly. "When ye were out o' commission sittin' in the brig o' the _Dutchman_, twas I that be steerin' the ship to Shipwreck Cove. An' I be th' one who rescued ye from Davy Jones' locker. Not t' mention I—"

"I'm not allowin' you to take credit for that, mate. _I_ was th' one who had th' _Pearl_ ready to go, _before_ any of you e'en showed up on my beach. You'd have been stranded there yourselves, an' would still be there today, had it not been for me an' my ship rescuin' your sorry hides."

"What does it e'en matter who says we go to Tortuga, anyhow?" Barbossa said, raising his voice a bit. "The point is, we all are agreein' t' do the same thing."

Gibbs spoke up. "Aye, Tortuga it is then." He ended his statement with a stately nod of the head.

He was met with dirty looks and a heavy silence from Jack and Barbossa both.

"You see?" Jack said, glaring at Barbossa. "Now, that just seems wrong, does it not?"

"I'm not gonna fight with ye so soon after our success in defeatin' Lord Beckett and 'is minions. 'sides, ye were only just in Davy Jones's locker; you'd prob'ly like to stay here fer a while."

"I was not there on account of you." He looked over at Elizabeth knowingly, who could only respond with a frown. He looked at Barbossa once more. "You've more to fear from _me_, bein' as I was th' one who killed _you_, savvy?"

"Then again, Sparrow, we're both alive an' well now, so's the score's even."

"It still remains that I killed you an' you did _not_ kill me," Jack half-mumbled, unable to back down.

Barbossa stood up suddenly, reaching for his cutlass.

"Wanna even the score, Sparrow?"

Jack stood up as well, performing the same motions as Barbossa. A potential swordfight was quelled by the rising of Elizabeth in between the duelers.

"If you had indeed killed Barbossa, Jack, he'd be dead. But he's alive. So you're both even! Now drop it!"

"Fine then. It's settled. Tortuga it—"

"Won't the two of you just drop it!" Elizabeth shouted, causing Jack to stop mid-sentence. Immediately he looked sheepish, Barbossa looked weary, and the conversation was ended.

* * *

Thank you to my reviewers for last chapter! Please review, whether you have before or this is your first time!

Don't worry, anon reviewer! I'm not holding the story hostage for reviews! I have and will update daily regardless of review # but it does make writing a LOT easier knowing that people are keeping track of where things are going, and care about the story, and that I haven't lost/offended them along the way. It's just that getting more reviews makes me even MORE pumped to post the next chapter, and at one point, did made me post earler! Mainly, I'm trying to keep this story on the first page of POTC stories, is all, regardless if people leave me feedback or not. And I'm not too proud to ask people to review, because it doesn't bother me when other authors ask for reviews. Thanks for your review, though, anyhow! I hope that cleared some things up for you! I'm sorry about making it seem like I'm going to hold off posting new chapters until I get a certain # of reviews. I usually only get a chance in the dead of the night to add new chapters, so that may be why it may seem like I'm hesitating!


	15. Salt In The Wounds

Warnings: see the title, matey

* * *

After painstakingly removing his tall black boots whilst lying on the floor, Cutler Beckett had managed to snake one of his legs into the sopping wet breeches, yet the other leg was still giving him problems. He had to stand in order to even attempt to get both of his legs in the pants. It was excruciatingly difficult to bend over, what with his backside still on fire and jolts of muscle cramps jolting up his back and down his thighs, crippling him temporarily. _How stupid I was to soak the breeches first. Getting these on is going to be impossible._

He leaned against the grating, finally able to slide his other foot into the leg of the breeches. Now came the hard part: fetching the waistband of the heavy, water-logged breeches from their position very close to the floor, and very far away from any position which was not painful for him to manage. He steeled himself to bear this most certainly to be unbearable process of bending down. Earlier he had determined that keeping his body at an almost sixty degree angle with the cell wall had its advantages, for he would not have to bend so much at the back, and could instead lift his leg slightly in order to grasp hold of the fabric.

Soon he was successful in grabbing a hold of the soaking wet breeches, and pulling them up bit-by-bit, which was difficult because they were sticking to his skin and were heavy with water, so that they were now at upper-thigh level. He turned away from the ladder to the brig, in case someone should walk down, as he would eventually have to lift the shirt in order to get the breeches the remainder of the way on.

_Now, how am I going to manage this? My arse is on fire and I do recall these breeches to be soaked with saltwater, which is going to burn like hell. I must have lost my common sense. I must go through with this, however. I can't very well lie in this cell all night like this._

Locking his jaw shut with as much force as he could muster, Beckett yanked the breeches up over his raw backside. _Oh, Lord in Heaven, take me now!_ He had not believed that anything could hurt so much: not the explosion, not the flogging this morning, nor the flogging later on in the day. He fell heavily to the floor, neglecting to even catch himself with his arms, lightheaded and dizzy from the incredible pain of what he had just done. The shriek that exited his lips was like that of a dying animal. He could not help himself. His head throbbed and stomach swam with sickening waves of nausea. The bloodcurdling scream resulting from this foolhardy endeavour alerted several crew members to descend to the brig. Jack as well as Barbossa and Elizabeth were alerted by the crew to check up on the prisoner.

They found him sprawled on his back, soaking wet breeches pulled up to his waistline, and white billowy shirt untucked, transparent in places where it overlapped the breeches. His face was stark white and eyes blinking disbelievingly, focused somewhere directly above him, as his mouth was pulled into a grimace, which seemed to be actively resisting the urge to allow his stomach contents to exit from its aperture. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

Elizabeth immediately sucked in a breath of air and held it, a giant wave of guilt washing over her. She had never intended this.

"He better not puke on me ship, or he'll be thrown to th' locker!" Jack raged, moving closer to the cell. "Didja hear that, Beckett? You'll be fish food! Say hello t' Will for me!"

Beckett could not respond, could not even hear the murmuring voices from somewhere in front of him.

"Stop that, Jack! He's had enough! And what nerve, to mention _Will_ in all of this!" Elizabeth said, coming forth and grabbing Jack's arm to pull him back. In the process she deliberately slugged him in the upper arm.

"Funny that you should say that, 'bout him havin' enough," he retorted quite nastily, rubbing the now tender spot, "seein' as _you_ were th' one to finally break 'im."

Barbossa looked confused, and this was not lost on Jack.

"Aye, it's all true, Barbossa. After the floggin', Mrs. Turner came down here an' took it upon herself to punish him further. He couldn't even move after that."

"What is _your _problem!" she said, angry and confused at the accusation. "I came down here meaning well, bringing _food_ for the lout, and he was nasty and insolent and sarcastic, everything he should _not _have been after the flogging this morning. I gave him several chances to avoid being punished, and he refused to submit."

"I'm jus' sayin'."

"Why are you defending him? If it weren't for him, you would have never been branded a pirate, never would have lost your ship, never would have made your foolish deal with Davy Jones. He has destroyed your life and yet you stand here _protecting_ him!"

_She does have a point_, Jack thought. _If it weren't for his early meddling in my life, certainly everything would've turned out quite differently for me._

"I'm not protectin' him, _per se_. I'm jus' pointin' out your role in all o' this." He indicated Beckett's still body, flat on the floor.

"What does my role matter? The obvious fact is that he pulled on his breeches, and something happened afterwards."

"Why're his breeches soakin' wet?" Barbossa inquired, squinting at them. "If that be his own waters, he be producin' an unhealthy amoun' o' water fer a man o' his size."

Jack unlocked the cell and entered, hunkering down near Beckett's legs and smelling saltwater emanating from the breeches, which had also left an obvious trail of water coming from the pail.

"Jus' seawater," he said, standing back up again and locking the cell as he stood again outside of it.

"Oh, it's no wonder he screamed then," Elizabeth said, covering her mouth with both hands. "All that salt went directly into his wounds. Ohh, I can't even imagine how badly that must have hurt."

"I daresay I ne'er thought the day'd come when ye'd be feelin' pity on the man, Mrs. Turner," Captain Barbossa spoke up.

"It's not pity," she answered. "It's just the idea that this new pain he has is his fault entirely." She looked coldly over at Jack. "Not mine."

He put up his hands in a form of surrender. "Alright, I can clearly see that th' fool didn't think much before attemptin' to dress hisself. Nothin' to do wiv you at all."

She gave a little smile. "Thank you for finally coming to your senses."

Pintel and Ragetti had been staring at Beckett from a vantage point to the side of the ladder.

Ragetti spoke up. "Could it be that he saw a ghost? Like maybe e'en 'is own?"

"Yeh bloody fool, ye'd have t' be dead t' see yer own ghost," Pintel replied.

"If one was dead, then they wouldn't be able t' see, let alone see their own ghost. As for meself, I don't believe in 'em," Jack added in a slurred tone, settling the argument quickly.

"Are we to leave 'im here t' recover on his own, or what? If I gotta be puttin' up with his blubberin' all night he'll be restin' on the bottom o' the ocean by mornin'," Barbossa raged.

The Singaporeans that had been observing Beckett hadn't said anything out loud during this time, which was expected. They instead just stared at the white form of Beckett lying on the ground and whispered amongst themselves in Malay.

"I don't think that there is anything that can be done to help him as of yet," Elizabeth commented, watching the foreign crewmembers suspiciously.

"Maybe removin' 'is breeches once more'll stop all the salt from soakin' in," Jack offered.

She suddenly had an idea. "Why don't you just get him another pair, one that isn't soaked?"

"He's not gettin' any o' my or my crew's possessions aboard th' _Pearl_. If he desires new breeches, it'd be much easier to acquire some in Tortuga. Bein' this was your idea in the firs' place, it makes most sense for the idea-maker to supply wot he needs."

"Oh, whatever," she said, scoffing. "But should we leave on the ones he has on at present?"

Barbosssa cut in. "Before ye e'en answer that, Jack, I just wanted t' remind ye tha' a sof'-hearted captain is not a respected captain."

Jack scowled at his mutinous former First Mate, who only smiled innocently back. "I'm not about t' do anythin' to help him. He brought this on hisself."

And with that, Jack went back up the ladder.

Barbossa, Gibbs, and the other members of the crew soon followed, tailed by the Singaporeans. Elizabeth was left alone in the dim light of a lantern looking at Beckett, who had not even tried to move or speak through the entire ordeal of the crew arriving in the brig.

There was nothing she could say. At the terrible way he looked now, she almost felt that she had exacted her vengeance on him. And yet, she wanted him to acknowledge his wrongdoings with no threat of consequence. There was still work to be done here. She left the brig, looking back at his milky complexion and the uneaten food one last time.

* * *

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Hope you enjoyed this segment!


	16. Jack's Scheme

Warnings: there be very tame innuendo in this chapter, but ye be forewarned anyhow….

* * *

That night, as everyone slept, a terrible pained howl came from the brig. Still half-asleep, the crew scrambled out of their hammocks, rushing up to main deck to prepare for whatever was coming. Jack awoke soon thereafter to a second howl most certainly coming from the brig. Before addressing his crew, he moved through the forecastle to see that everyone was gone from their beds. _Could it be another mutiny? Or is it just stupid Beckett, stirring everyone awake? I rather hope it is the latter. _He descended to the brig with the keys and his dagger tucked in his belt, a candle in hand to light his way.

Beckett had now flopped onto his stomach, and was squirming around on the ground like a dying eel, moaning and groaning and making sickening retching noises.

"Wot is your bloody problem?" Jack cried, making his way to the cell door and unlocking it. "Wakin' up me an' me crew in th'middle o' th' night. I guess there's more'n one woman on board. You're lucky Barbossa didn' arrive first."

_That's it_, he decided. _The breeches have to go. Either that or I slit his throat whilst he's agonizing. If I do th' latter, I'd have to clean up blood, though, an' I'd rather not have to deal wiv that at th' moment._

_Now comes the tricky part: doing this wivout gettin' puked on. _Creeping up beside Beckett whilst avoiding his flailing arms, Jack grabbed the waistband of Beckett's breeches and yanked the offending fabric downwards in one quick motion, passing them over Beckett's boots, and pulling them off.

As Beckett began to let out a moan of pain, Jack shoved the breeches into his face, muffling whatever came out of his mouth. This was quite effective. However, now Beckett was left half-bare again. Jack exited the cell, locking the cell door carefully. He took one last look at Beckett, spread-eagled on the floor totally exposed. "Not my problem," Jack said aloud to himself, hastily leaving the brig.

Jack made his way to the deck, where the crew, half-asleep, were assembled sloppily and were groaning amongst themselves.

"I hope ye took care o' that captive o' yours!" one of the pirates yelled. "If not, I'm inclined t' do so meself!"

Barbossa was leering. "He's jus' lucky Sparrow got down there firs'," he growled. "He'd be halfway to th' nex' worl' by now if it had been me."

"Gentlemen, it will no longer be an issue," Jack heartily promised them. Some of the crew let out a cheer, assuming that Beckett's life had now ended. He didn't try to correct their overenthusiastic cheers.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, did not see cause for celebration. As the crew descended once more below deck, she grabbed Jack's wrist.

"What did you do to him?" she asked. "Did you kill him? Because I wanted him to—"

"_That_ I will let you see for yourself," he responded simply, pulling away from her and heading back to his quarters. _Will her curiosity get the better of her? I must stay up an' see if she's goin' to go exploring. What a sight she'll see! It'll also reveal her level o' devotion to Will. Maybe stayin' on th' ship when we arrive in Tortuga is th' best thing I could do, that is, if her level of devotion is as low as methinks it is…._

Elizabeth was left alone on deck to consider. _What could he have done to Beckett to shut him up so quickly? I thought I had heard a muffled sound; could Jack have suffocated him? Or did he do something to him not involving death? _

_Jack didn't correct the crew when they cheered, however. They are probably assuming that Jack killed him. I think I need to see with my own eyes what went on down there…._

The idea of Beckett's breeches being removed did dart through her mind, but in the name of curiosity she was willing to allow that to be an option upon her arrival. Besides, checking on Beckett and accidentally seeing something in the process was definitely _not_ an action of unfaithfulness!

Jack had left his candle on deck, still burning on. She picked it up and descended below deck, only wishing to steal a quick peek at what had transpired.

* * *

He saw her moving towards the brig, and followed her stealthily in the darkness. She looked to be self-conscious, for she was always checking around herself. _She knows she's doin' wrong_, the dark figure mused. _An' yet she keeps going._ He watched her disappear into the brig.

Beckett was spread-eagled on the ground, flat on his stomach, his face buried in the fabric of his breeches. _Maybe he's dead,_ she mused._ But why would Jack go through the trouble to remove his breeches, only to kill him afterwards? It doesn't make sense…._

The black boots afforded him some cover, for they were still present on his legs up to his knees. His white shirt had been lifted so that it only covered down to his lower back. _If Jack had covered Beckett up once more with his shirt, the seawater that had soaked into the shirt would be causing him the same problem as before. I guess I can see why Jack left him exposed…._

Suddenly Beckett shifted his weight a bit, startling Elizabeth. Thankfully she covered her mouth before she could emit a sound. She watched him shift his mouth away from the ball of fabric shoved in his face. _I have to go…. Now_, she mused. But she could not pull herself away.

Here was a man that had destroyed so many lives, had taken so many lives, of men and women, pirates and governors. Here he was, exposed for what he was, not an authority figure dressed in splendid clothing that made his importance obvious, but a man, of flesh and blood.

The crisscrosses of previously red and purple exposed flesh across his backside and especially the stab wound from Jack had turned a strange foamy whitish color. Of course, the purplish bruises and deep lash-marks cut into the delicate white flesh still remained, but the fact that many of the wounds had taken on this new appearance was more troublesome.

If nothing else, she had discovered what Jack had done to Beckett. _Why couldn't he have just told me?_ She frowned. _Maybe it's that he wants me to lose Will for good,_ she mused. _Could seeing a man in this state cause that to happen?_

She crept silently up the ladder out of the brig, and ran face first—into Jack, who had been standing at the top, looking down towards the brig. Elizabeth let out a small _oof!_ but Jack could only clear his throat and begin walking away as nonchalantly as possible. This was thwarted by Elizabeth rushing forward and grabbing him by the shoulder.

"What was the purpose of your convincing me to go check on Beckett's condition?" she cried, glaring at him.

"I ne'er tol' you to do anythin' o' th' sort. You went down there on your own, wivout any need o' convincin' by me."

"Why did you stay and spy on me then?"

He blinked and looked sheepish for a minute, apparently not expecting her to ask that question.

"To be honest, luv, I was worried, in case you had felt a need t' tend to our captive an' then got attacked by said captive."

"You don't think I could have defended myself against a weakened man lying facedown on the floor?"

"Beckett has a lot o' tricks up 'is sleeves, for certain. An' that's why 'is sleeves are so billowy; lots o' room for tricks. I am well aware of his ways. No doubt he would have tried somethin' on you had you entered his cell tonight."

She wasn't having any of it, and her expression showed that.

"I know your real purpose for sending me down here, Captain Sparrow, and I'd appreciate it if you would lay off on making me appear to be unfaithful to Will."

"Certainly a few rolls in the sand can't be satisfactory enough for ten years celibacy to your dear William?" he replied, looking roguish. "I recall quite a short time ago you wanted so _badly_ to experience the _benefits_ of marriage, that I myself almost convinced you t' marry _me_ aboard this very ship."

Her eyes were shooting daggers.

"I cannot believe that you could have possibly thought that my outright rejection at your so-called 'proposal' construed any sort of feeling on my part otherwise."

He held up a finger in protest.

"Ah, ah, but then later that same day, you would not have protested t' bein' kissed. In fact, it rather appeared that you _wanted _to be seduced by th' infamous Captain Jack Sparrow."

She remembered that day well. Yes, it was true, she had wanted to experience Jack's kiss; there was no denying the attraction she felt for the man. Even the compass confirmed him to be her true heart's desire… at least, at that point in time. But how was she to convince him otherwise? She was a rather horrible bluffer.

"I was only setting a trap for you, so that in the end, when I chained you to the mast, my advances then would not seem so out-of-the-blue and thus would not arouse your suspicions."

He was certainly not convinced by this admission. Truth to tell, she wouldn't have been convinced either.

"How could you have possibly known wot was comin'?" he said. "Well, I'm not fallin' for your unlikely excuses. My compass doesn't lie. Now, maybe my suspicions weren't aroused that day on the mast, but _you_ were."

His statement was met with a resounding slap across the face. Elizabeth hissed at him.

"How dare you question my devotion to Will? How dare you try to tell me of my heart's desire? You don't even know what _you_ want, as proven by your own bloody compass! You can't so much as get a heading!"

He barely reacted to the slap, with only a slight jerk of the head, even though she had put a good bit of strength behind the slap. _She is rather strong – for a woman, o' course…._ Unfazed, he looked directly at her once again.

"You are correct that I cannot get a headin', but my compass points straight an' true at th' thing I want most," he said, indifferent to the slap. He had gotten well-used to those sorts of things, although Elizabeth's did sting quite a bit more than the slaps of the Tortuga whores.

"What? To your rum, to your ship? To some yet unknown destination on Sao Feng's map? You've got all you've ever wanted –"

"No, I haven't," he interrupted. He took out the compass, which had been attached to his belt. "Why don' you see for yourself?" He opened the lid.

* * *

Good cliffhanger? Thanks for your reviews last chapter! I hope you liked this'n!


	17. Trouble Aboard

Warnings: none

* * *

Before she could protest, could move, could even _think_ of something to say, the arrow pointed right at her. She scoffed, looking uninterested, and moved away from the arrow, watching as it followed her all the while. He said not a word, looking down at the compass.

"Jack," she said, her voice softening. "I already told you, it would never have worked between us."

"An' why is that?" he managed to say. "You're here, I'm here, an' most importantly, Will is _not_."

Her resolve was weakening by the second. "I made a promise to Will, and I'm not breaking it."

"All that I can read o' his predicamen' is that in ten years, you've gotta be there when he returns –or else he may just get all tentacly an' would be forced to play his _own_ organ for eternity. I do not recall any other terms o' th' arrangement." He circled around Elizabeth, tucking his compass away once more. "Ten years is an awfully long time to pledge total unwaverin' faithfulness, _'specially_ if it's not e'en required."

"And how would you know so much about this?" she inquired, looking suspicious. He stopped in front of her at the inquiry.

"I nearly took on the role meself, that is, before Will was –" he saw the resulting horrified expression on her face, "well, _you_ know. I would not have minded an eternity at sea, wiv a visit t' land once every ten years. Besides, if I could acquire meself a good sturdy bucket wiv wheels an' someone willin' to push it, I could go ashore an' do as I please anytime I wanted."

"But then you'd also have to spend all of your time ferrying souls to the next world, don't forget."

He looked crestfallen. "Aye, that's th' major drawback… "

"And if you wouldn't have performed your duties correctly, you would look like Davy Jones."

"Alright, that's quite enough." He looked mildly revolted. "We're gettin' off the subject. Which was, ah, I remember, th' fact there's nothin' to lose from bein' wiv—"

"Maybe the time has come for you to start ignoring your compass." She pushed past him quickly and headed directly for bed.

He was left in a wake of raging emotions. Had she completely rejected him just there, or was there a sliver of hope to be found in her words? He scoffed, and decided to head back to his quarters to get his mind off of such things.

* * *

Back in the brig, Beckett had managed to bunch up the trousers under his head and lay his head upon the damp but soft makeshift pillow. The pain of his salted wounds waning every second, he was eventually able to close his legs and even pull his shirt down over exposed regions without even letting out a sound in the process.

_How I wish I could have heard that entire conversation, _he mused_. All I could tell was that Sparrow was slapped, and Turner then yelled at him over questioning her devotion to her husband and whatnot. Does this have anything to do with me? Does he think she's falling for_ me_? Ha! _he mused sarcastically._ Likely! But, this conversation _did_ occur right outside of where I'm staying…_

* * *

Elizabeth retired to her bed in the officer's quarters with a sigh of exasperation. _Why can't he just make this easy for me?_ she mused, remembering the times when the mere sigh of the pirate would cause butterflies in her stomach.

It really was unfair. Will had no temptation to stray whilst doing his duty as captain of the _Dutchman_. He had his long-lost father there for company, and plenty of now normal-looking men as his crewmates. He would also not be aging, whereas she would be ten years older and ten years unhealthier upon his return. And she would be surrounded by living, breathing men that she could not touch for these ten years.

_I'm in the prime of my life, and I'm reduced to waiting on a man that perhaps in ten years will no longer love me._

She could not sleep, for every time she would close her eyes she would see the tentacled face of Will as he stood aboard the _Dutchman_, his forgetful starfish-faced father beside him brandishing the sword that killed James Norrington.

Jack Sparrow could also not sleep that night. His earlier admission kept running through his head. _She's probably going to want to disembark for good when we get to Tortuga. If I can jus' make sure she stays on th' ship, she'll have to stay aboard for another couple o' months, at least. Mayhap I could change her mind in that time…_

* * *

It only took another full day of sailing to reach Tortuga. In the early afternoon of the second day of sailing for the island, they finally reached their destination. The ship's sole longboat was filled with half of the Singaporeans aboard the ship, as well as Barbossa, Gibbs, Cotton, Marty, and Ragetti. Jack had not allowed the announcement for land to be made, for he wanted Elizabeth to remain on the ship, and at present she was below deck, wholly unaware that they had made berth.

Only half of the Singaporeans were able to fit in the longboat along with the crew that was to collect supplies. Several remaining Singaporeans were therefore forced to stay aboard the _Black Pearl_ and continue to sail under the command of Captain Sparrow at least until they made port again, which could occurs months from now. All was not to be lost by their remaining aboard, however…

Once he watched the longboat row a sufficient distance away, Jack descended to the hold for some rum in order to drink himself into a stupor, being as Barbossa, at least for the day, was now incapable of tossing him overboard at the first sign of Jack's rum-induced bouts of notably deep sleep. _He'd commit mutiny wivout a second thought upon the firs' sign o' my incapacitation_, he mused, uncorking a rather large bottle of the fermented beverage and tilting it to his lips.

Elizabeth retrieved the uneaten food and drink from Beckett's cell and deposited them in the forecastle so that she could meet up with the crew aboard the ship once again. However, when she returned to the main deck, the longboat was gone, as was the majority of the crew! The island of Tortuga was several hundred metres away, the retreating longboat a mere dark speck in the distance. In a slight panic, she raced about the ship to determine who had stayed. She found half a dozen Singaporeans lazing about on the gun deck, Pintel and several other pirates taking naps in their bunks, and Jack focusing all his attention on knocking back the contents of an oversized bottle in the hold. Barbossa and Gibbs, notably, were missing.

The ship was much too far offshore to try to make a swim for it. She had determined last night to look around Tortuga for herself, to get away from the pirates for a spell. Maybe she'd even get herself a bath whilst ashore, being as she was in dire need of one. Now it had been made impossible for her to do so!

She found herself yawning not once, but several times, as she traversed the ship. _Maybe I should get some sleep whilst there's ample quiet to be had_, she mused. _I could lock my door and disappear for several hours without anyone around to wonder where I am_.

It did not take her long upon entering her cabin that this was the best idea. This time it was rather easy for her to fall asleep.

The _Black Pearl_ floated quietly for about an hour while the remainder of the crew traversed ashore. A group of pirates were planning a devious scheme involving the captive of the ship; however, they had to wait for Sparrow to lose consciousness first. After they had been made to wait several hours for him to fall into a drunken stupor, the keys to the brig were swiped easily from Captain Sparrow, his hand instead firmly grasping an empty bottle of rum. The group ascended the ladder to the gun deck, and then made their way to the brig, where Cutler Beckett was just awakening.

"The brig is too close to crew quarters," one pointed out.

"Aye, and the echo it has. The ship all wake last night," another added.

"Captain quarters would be secure," a third suggested. "And the door locks."

After entering his cell, they easily dispatched Beckett with a well-placed thwack of the scrub-brush to the side of his head. It was easy to carry the lightweight captive over to the opposite end of the ship, especially with no one in the way.

He was stripped of his boots back in the brig, and upon reaching the room, his hands were shackled in front of him and he was thrown face first onto the captain's bed. One of the Singaporeans locked the door behind the lot of them, the silence so absolute that the clicking of the lock sounded deafening. Smelling salts were soon administered to the unconscious captive thereafter.

Beckett awoke to a comfortable bed, his throbbing head resting upon the finest of down pillows wrapped in a silky-smooth pillowcase. A comforter stuffed with soft eiderdown was lying silkily and warmly upon his body. _Why the bloody hell does my head feel like it's on fire_, he thought, not having opened his eyes yet. _Maybe it was all a nightmare. Maybe I drank excessively, which would explain the feeling in my head, and subsequently dreamt of everything that occurred… But where did the reality stop and the nightmare begin? Well, hopefully before the _Dutchman_ turned on us…._

He slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see sun streaming through the beautiful stained-glass windows of his quarters on the _Endeavour_. To see the elaborate paintings of himself set up on easels about his bedroom. And of course, to smell the delightful smells emanating up from own his personal galley, his chef up before the light of dawn to brew him a fresh cup of tea.

Instead he saw about him the dirtied faces of half a dozen Asian pirates, sneering at him, glancing at each other with knowing and excited glances.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he said, his voice gravelly.

"You belong to us now," one of the Singaporeans said bemusedly.

The comforter was yanked back, allowing for a draft to blow along the bottom half of his body. A razor-sharp sword suddenly appeared under his chin, causing him to jerk away instantaneously.

"Now, you listen to what we tell you to do," one commanded, "or we gut you alive."


	18. A Very Bad Situation

Warnings: there be disturbin' innuendos an' violence in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

Beckett gulped, wondering what they were going to expect of him. He had to feign disinterest, his usual mechanism of dealing with danger.

"I can't see what you could possibly expect of me, being as that my hands have been rendered useless beneath me," he said to the group. They only laughed.

"Exactly," one commented, with a sneer. Beckett was instantly confused.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. One of the Singaporeans pulled out a pistol and approached the door cautiously. The others of the group held their tongues and their breaths, presuming the captain of the ship to be standing on the other side.

"It's Pintel, Sir!" the man half-shouted, his gravelly voice obviously not that of the captain's. The Singaporean, his weapon still at the ready, cautiously unlocked and opened the door to find the bald pirate standing earnestly on the other side.

"Hey, wot's happ'ned ta Cap'n Sparrow?" Pintel demanded, noticing the Singaporeans within the captain's quarters.

"In the hold," was the reply. "Rum."

Pintel leaned on the door heavily, exposing the interior of the room. Beckett was prone on Captain Sparrow's bed, stripped from the waist down. Singaporean pirates lined the bedside.

"Wotcha tryin' ta do here?" he asked, being pushed back. With the recently-found knowledge that the group to Tortuga had left him behind, it had occurred to him that he was going to be stuck another several months without any womanly company. Apparently the present Singaporeans had thought of this as well. He looked over at the former leader of the EITC splayed out on the bed. In addition to being of short stature, Beckett was surprisingly thin and lithely built and had not a shred of back hair. _This may well hafta suit me fer the time bein'_, he mused, taking a step towards the door once more.

"What you doing?" one of the foreigners asked him, seeing that he was seemingly trying to enter.

"Don' mind if I join in meself," he said, pushing his stout burly body through the poorly guarded door. He shut it behind him, and stood near the Asians as they returned their focus to Beckett once more.

One of the pirates crawled onto the bed, sitting down across Beckett's now vainly kicking legs. Beckett turned his head to look back at the man, who grinned wickedly back at him. Suddenly their intentions were made clear to him.

"You cannot do this!" he yelped, kicking his legs about. He tried to pull his arms out from underneath him, but the man sitting on him leaned his filthy body forward so that he was applying his weight over Beckett's lower back as well, making it impossible to escape. Foreign cheers filled the air, as he felt the pirate scoot further back down his body again.

"Get off of me!" he shouted, throwing his head about, contorting his body so that his backside was again in pain from the muscle movement. He would be feeling a much worse pain there if he couldn't get the man off of him….

He continued bucking about yelling various curses and versions of _stop_ until his neck was met with the point of a dagger. He looked into the amused eyes of Pintel, who had his dagger positioned just below Beckett's Adam's-apple.

"Don't let them do this," Beckett murmured to the faintly recognizable face. This man was in allegiance with Jack, and so had something to lose by disobeying Jack's orders. Or, had Jack ordered this himself?

Pintel only laughed spitefully. Now Beckett could sense that other things were to occur shortly and raised his voice to yell in unintelligible protest.

The word _rape_ screamed in his ear. _And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse,_ he mused. _I want nothing more than to die before this occurs…._

He allowed his neck to rest more heavily on the point of the dagger, feeling the blade pierce his skin and not so much as flinching. Pintel shot him a look of confusion, watching a trickle of blood drip from Beckett's neck onto Jack's pillow.

"I don't care anymore," he told the pirate. "Just slit my throat, and be done with it."

Suddenly a cheer was heard from behind him. Apparently the pirate upon him was now prepared to….

_Oh, dear Lord_. He kicked and thrashed with all his might, inarticulate words and phrases leaving his mouth all the while. His legs were pulled apart roughly, and something touched him in the place that would shortly be violated. _Oh no_, his mind flashed. _No no no no no no_

Suddenly the door slammed open, and all the Singaporean pirates as well as Pintel simultaneously ducked beside the bed. Beckett's face fell onto the pillow, a welcome relief from the sharp point of the dagger that had been under his chin. The pirate atop him fell backwards onto the back of his knees, causing some pain but mostly an enormous flood of relief to jolt through his body.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" Elizabeth demanded, her voice loud and commanding. The sound of a pistol cocking. _I hope it's her pistol_, Beckett mused.

"We was jus' playin' wit' him," Pintel offered. Beckett's thoughts were racing through his head. _Is she going to allow them to continue?_ _Oh, please have her stop this…._

There was a pause of such silence that Beckett shuddered. He could not bear to let Elizabeth see his face and so kept it buried in the pillow.

"This is an absolute disgrace!" she yelled. "You are all to leave the ship _immediately_!"

"But we thought yeh wanted 'im ta—" Pintel said.

"Punishment does not include being raped," she shot, striding towards the bed.

"Why should we listen to you?" a Singaporean pirate said.

"Namely, because I am the pirate king, and I have the final say, whether you wish to recognize that or not," she said dangerously, her pistol passing over each pirate as she spoke. "As you recall, Sao Feng gave me his piece o' eight. You will do as I wish whilst on this ship. For that reason, you _will_ honor my wishes as you would honor Sao Feng's. I order you to leave the ship. Now!"

She had been a commanding presence at the meeting of the Brethren Court and in the wake of the battle against the East India Trading Company. The spirited young woman had captivated the entire crew with her rousing words and commanding stance. This situation was no different. She had certainly not lost her edge. And the fact that she was also aiming a pistol at the men was yet another reason to obey.

Beckett heard several of the pirates scrambling out of the room, as well as the relief of pressure on his legs from the pirate getting off of him. There was someone left, however, besides Elizabeth and himself.

"Pintel, how dare you," she said, moving towards the bald pirate.

"An' why should I listen ta you, _poppet_?" he replied, his voice holding a tone of danger.

"Because I would not hesitate to kill you right now," she said. "Every other moment you're switching allegiance, and so I do not trust you at all. I have half a mind to tell Jack that you are planning a mutiny against him. He'd have you thrown off the ship in a heartbeat." She pointed her pistol at the pirate. "However, I would prefer that you evacuate the ship along with your _friends_."

She was met with silence.

"They ain't my friends," he muttered.

"I don't care. Get out of here."

Beckett could hear the sound of the floorboards creaking, as Pintel stood up.

The silence was deafening. Would Pintel wrest the weapon off of her and kill her? _What the hell are they doing?_

He could hear a sigh coming from Pintel.

"Now, listen here, poppet, just 'cause yeh got yer piece o' eight does not mean yeh can command aroun' the crew o' this ship."

"Actually, I think it gives me perfectly acceptable grounds to do so," was her reply.

"The only reason they listened ta yeh is 'cause yeh got a gun pointed at 'em. Otherwise, they woulda been glad ta let yeh take the place o' Beckett, o' that I'm sure."

"Leave now or I'll be forced to stain Jack's cabin with your blood," she snarled, her voice low and dangerous.

"Fine," he said huffily, pushing past Elizabeth in an anticlimactic end to their standoff. "Ya better watch yer back, ya bloody wretched cur," he hissed, presumably at Beckett, for Elizabeth said not a word more.

Elizabeth went back to the door and locked it. Beckett heard the click of the lock and fear rose again in his throat. _Have they returned already?_

She slowly made her way to the head of the bed, where Beckett's face was buried in the pillow. He felt a hand being laid upon his shoulder, and turned his head slightly so that he could now see around him.

It was Elizabeth who had touched him. He could only gape at her for a moment, before being overcome with embarrassment and putting his face back into the pillow.

There was a sound of footsteps, and then the comforter was placed back over the length of his body.

Relief and comfort filled his entire person in a flood of pleasure. He had not only been spared from being violated, but he was also being covered by these heavenly blankets!

"Don't get used to it," Elizabeth remarked, spoiling his feelings. "You are to return to the brig right away."

He lifted his head slightly, feeling the urgency of the use of a real restroom facility.

"May I first use the facilities here?"

She sighed. "Go ahead. But you must be out of here before the captain returns."

"Obviously," he said, sneering at her.

"You have no reason to be rude to me. On the contrary, I should think."

"Of course. I apologize," he responded, without hesitation. The sneer immediately left his face, replaced by an expression lacking all emotion.

She was a bit shocked by his apology, but didn't show it.

Beckett was finally able to remove his shackled hands from their position tucked under his pelvis. As he rose shakily from the bed, he used his hands to pull his shirt down over himself so that he could go to the facilities with an air of decency. She used a small, heavily worn key to unlock the shackles so that he could more easily use the toilet.

Elizabeth did not look at him as she directed him with a pointed finger towards the heads of the ship, conveniently located in the captain's quarters.

Afterwards he returned to the captain's cabin, where Elizabeth was waiting. She stepped ahead of him and unlocked the door, opening it so that he could proceed through – right into a drunken Jack Sparrow.

"Wot is goin' on in here!" he yelled, in utter shock. Beckett was bottomless and bootless, Elizabeth was behind him and looking rather shocked… and _his_ bed was much more awry than it had been when he had left it this morning.

* * *

More trouble brews! Thanks to my lovely reviewers for your concern over last chapter's interesting cliffhanger. Sorry for yet another one:)


	19. Mistrust

Warnings: there be some cursin' an' very slight innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

"I would quite appreciate it if you would explain yourself," he demanded of Elizabeth, grabbing her arm and stopping her from passing, the smell of rum on his breath overpowering.

She glanced over quickly at Beckett, which was returned with a pleading one. _I should not want that Sparrow knows what happened in there_, he mused.

"He had to use the heads," she stated simply, attempting to pull from his grasp. He did not let go, however.

"An' so you brought 'im in here, wivout his boots, an' then mistook the bed for a toilet!"

She looked back at the bed, and turned back to face him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated as coolly as possible.

"You know bloody well wot I'm talkin' about! Is this your way o' tryin' to get back at me for my good intentions!"

"What is he talking about," Beckett nonchalantly asked Elizabeth.

"It's none of your damned business, bloody prig!" Jack spat. Suddenly he became quiet again, and turned to Elizabeth. "Take 'im back to th' brig or I take him right off th' ship. I noticed upon gettin' me dose o' sunlight for th' afternoon that there are already quite a few who have decided to abandon ship, an' I'd hoped he was one of 'em. Better late than never!"

"I don't understand what you think happ—" she began to sputter, utterly confused. _Sparrow and Swann won't be allied against me if they can't trust each _other, Beckett mused, finding his moment.

Suddenly, Beckett suddenly touched her arm… too fondly. "It's no use, Elizabeth," he said quietly to her. "He's discovered us."

She turned to him, daggers in her eyes, as she jerked her arm forcefully away from him.

"What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?" she said through clenched teeth, looking furious.

Jack looked like he could murder Beckett at that moment. It was entirely possible that he would do so. Elizabeth had to get him back into the brig as soon as possible so she could begin to clear up this misunderstanding.

She moved forward, pulling away from Jack in the process. Scowling, she roughly grabbed her captive by the forearm and jerked him forward as to almost cause him to lose balance as she pushed through the infrastructure of the ship back to the brig, dragging Beckett by the arm behind her.

"Why are you doing this, Elizabeth?" he questioned within earshot of Jack, a smile playing on his lips. He was met with an elbow-jarring jerk of his arm.

Once they had returned to the brig she dragged the captive into his cell, whipping him up violently against the grating in the process, and slammed the door behind him, locking it quickly.

After he was locked inside she snarled at him, expressing all the hatred she felt towards this manipulative man.

"Why in God's name would you do something like that?" she yelled at him, met with an air of disinterest. "I should have let them sodomize you –you bloody coward!— in lieu of trying to feel pity for your situation!"

"Why do you care what Jack thinks, anyway," he asked her, indifference the only emotion he conveyed.

"I care more what _he_ thinks than what _you_ think! In fact, I could care _less_ what you think! He's the captain of the ship, in case you've forgotten! I should have you flogged within an inch of your life for your stupidity!"

"I think the whole flogging-within-an-inch-of-my-life happened yesterday, actually," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I happen to believe that it loses its fervor when it's done on subsequent days."

"Let me just say how glad I am that you refrained from eating yesterday!" she spat viciously. "My new plan of letting you starve to death is already one day in the making!"

He sighed, eyes conveying no emotion. "If it means so much to you, why don't you just explain what really occurred to your dear captain? Or have you already lost his trust?"

"I was merely trying to save you the embarrassment of admitting to such a violation," she fumed. "You wouldn't know a good deed if it slapped you across the face."

"I wouldn't think that something good would slap me across the face," he replied nonchalantly.

"Anything resulting in your misery is now considered to me to be a good deed. You had better hope that what happened to you today doesn't happen again on this ship, because I will be there to cheer them on next time. I rather hope they had stayed aboard!"

She left the brig hastily, heading over to where she had last left Jack. As she had expected, he was no longer there. She heard the lifting of the longboat, and headed up to the main deck.

The boat davit creaked and groaned as it lifted the longboat out of the water. All the Singaporeans she had reprimanded earlier had apparently abandoned the ship already, for they could not be found. Pintel was still present, albeit appearing to be a bit embarrassed, waiting for the other members of their crew to bring the supplies on board.

Jack stood at the helm, watching Elizabeth glare daggers at Pintel. _I had always known they didn't quite click, but she seems to really have it out for him at present. I wonder wot th' story behind that is…._

Glancing around the entirety of the ship's upper decks, Elizabeth spotted Jack by the helm. _I should explain this all to him, before it makes things worse_, she mused, beginning her trek up the gang-way to the quarter-deck.

He spotted Elizabeth coming, but didn't move. _Now wot's she gonna claim? I can't wait to hear this…_

"Jack," she said breathily. "I can imagine what you _thought_ may have happened, but allow me to tell you the truth."

He looked at her for a brief second, and then looked back at the rising longboat, its passengers making their way onto the deck with fresh supplies.

"Whilst you were down in the hold and the others were lazing around the gun deck or sleeping in their bunks, I decided to go back to sleep for a time myself," she began. "I awoke when I heard yelling, coming from the area of your cabin."

He appeared to be listening but did not look at her. She continued.

"So I promptly burst through your door and witness Beckett, on your bed, within moments of being raped by a Singaporean pirate. Some other Singaporeans as well as Pintel were waiting alongside the bed, watching the activity unfold."

His face turned from that of disinterest to surprise. He turned to face her. "So he was wiv-in moments of bein' raped,' says you. How can you be so certain?"

"Let's just say I have no doubt whatsoever that that was the case. Happy now?"

"Is this supposed t' make me happy, some sort o' buggery on me very own bed! Downright revoltin' that is." He shook his head, sticking his tongue out. "Why did you feel th' need t' have t' tell me?" His face was twisted in utter disgust.

"I told you the truth because I do not want you to fall for whatever Beckett was trying to do there, trying to rile you up for some reason of his own."

"But why didn' you tell me this in th' firs' place?" he inquired.

"I was trying to spare him the embarrassment of being in such a pitiful position," she said. "I thought I was doing him a favour, but he took advantage of my sympathies."

"So wot happened to these men? There were six left, were there not? I have not seen th' Singaporean pirates since before I went to th' hold."

"I told them to get off the ship," she stated simply. "Apparently they obeyed."

Suddenly it dawned on him that the men he had seen swimming away from his ship before finding Elizabeth and Beckett in his cabin were one and the same with the Singaporeans she had commanded to leave.

He looked frightened for a minute, then held out his hand, painstakingly counted his fingers, and immediately became calm again.

"What was that all about?" Elizabeth asked him.

"Jus' wanted to be certain there's enough men t' run the ship."

"And?" she said impatiently.

"Don' worry; there's enough."

He sighed deeply, wiping his brow.

His serenity having returned, Jack's expression changed yet again to one of disappointment.

"E'en so, I now regret lettin' off th' other half o' th' Singaporeans in Tortuga," he muttered. "If in our earlier battle we should have had to actually _defend_ ourselves against th' _Endeavour_, they actually had some quite splendid ideas about wot exactly we could do. An' I wasn't totally averse to their idea o' humiliatin' Beckett, very unique indeed I mus' say, e'en though they chose th' _wrong_ place to commit their act."

"To me, it shows that they had no respect for you, to intend to violate someone on the your very own bed."

He made a face of disgust. "An' wot o' Pintel?"

"He's still aboard. I told him to leave as well, but he of course didn't listen."

Jack's face held an agitated look.

"He an' his friend wiv th' wooden eye are th' _hardes'_ t' rid me ship of," he muttered. "I e'en tried to trade 'em over to Beckett durin' our simultaneous run-in wiv the _Endeavour_ an' Sao Feng. The pair cannot be rid of, it does seem."

"What do you propose to do then?"

He looked at his hands, uneasiness in his gaze. He looked back at Elizabeth, his uneasy expression remaining.

"Wiv 'im, we'd have enough able-bodied crew t' run th' ship. Wivout 'im, well…."

"Ah, so he is aware that he is indispensable then."

Jack sighed.

"An' so it would seem."

* * *

Barbossa, Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, and Ragetti were soon standing on the main deck, unloading their newly acquired supplies from the longboat. They had acquired a good deal of rum, as well as some fresh food and water and first aid supplies. The rum they had lifted off the boat in great wooden casks and smaller kegs, as well as a grand assortment of glass bottles and flasks in several hues.

Jack and Elizabeth descended from the bridge of the ship, and aided in carrying the supplies down to the hold. All in all, the crew had acquired a good deal of supplies in their visit to Tortuga.

Leaving Elizabeth to carry down some of the smaller supplies, Jack approached Barbossa.

"Wot is th' situation wiv th' Comp'ny? Did you happen to notice any o' their spies stalkin' aroun' Tortuga?" he asked the tall captain.

"Not a one did I notice," Barbossa replied. "Aye, there coulda been a few hidden in th' tavern, ye'd not believe how crowded it be all day, but I didn' happen t' see any o' th' familiars."

"That's not t' say they _weren'_ around, o' course," Jack replied, a worried look on his face as he glanced around him with uncertainty.

"If'n they had been an' had recognized us, d'ye think we'd have headed back at leisure with nothin' trailin' us?"

"Then wot's that?" Jack inquired, pointing at a rather large ship steadily approaching from the direction of Tortuga's main port.


	20. Jetsam

Warnings: none

* * *

A ship about the size of the _Interceptor_ was leaving the port of Tortuga and heading in the direction of the _Black Pearl_. It was flying no colors, but the speed in which it left the dock was uncommonly fast.

"That ship; did you notice wot she's flyin'," Jack asked the other captain, indicating the ship with a point of his finger at the offending item.

"I didn' take no notice o' it. If she be flyin' a British ensign then, I'd-a made haste to get back to the ship. I didn' see anythin'."

Jack looked at him incredulously.

"Doesn't it make sense, though? The comp'ny's after _us_ now; we're not after them. They aren't goin' to want t' scare every buccaneer in th' Caribbean away from 'em by displayin' their bloody flag for all t' see. Sneaky buggers, they are."

Barbossa made sure of the lack of colors on the ship by peering through his telescope.

"No, she's not flyin' anythin'," he murmured, retracting the scope and tucking it back in his pocket.

"Jack," Elizabeth called, from the helm, "I think someone's after us." Before he could roll his eyes, having her point out something he had already seen, he looked to where she was pointing to see yet another ship coming towards the _Pearl_ from a different angle, from another Tortuga port around the other side of the island.

Jack put a hand to his chin, stroking the braids of his goatee, considering. "I think that now would be a good time to—"

Barbossa began shouting orders before Jack could even think of what to do. "All han's on deck! Weigh anchor an' set the sails!"

Gibbs, Ragetti, Cotton, and Pintel assembled on the main deck, followed by Marty and several more of the _Pearl_'s crew, including Murtogg and Mullroy, the two Royal Navy/EITC renegades who had hauled Beckett's limp body to the brig after the flogging.

Irritated at the haste in which the crew ran off to do their respective jobs at Barbossa's instruction, Jack joined in commanding his crew.

"Hoist th' mizzen!" he exclaimed, scrambling down to main deck, watching one of the ships raise its colors as it moved quickly towards them. Several of the crew hesitated, seeing the approaching ships. "Smartly now, men!" Jack cried, smacking them as he ran by. Just as he had dreaded, at least one of the ships was a ship of the Company.

Elizabeth ran down from the quarterdeck and helped her crewmates lift the anchor. Soon the sails were angled so to catch the wind and the _Pearl_ was soon hightailing out of the range of the pursuing ships.

Cutler Beckett heard the scurrying of the crew to the deck and the hoisting of the anchor over the cathead, but was too far below deck to hear anyone speaking. _I wonder what the hurry is_, he mused, lying on his side after having successfully dressed himself once more in his breeches, which were now stiff, dry, and slightly shrunken, and his boots. It didn't seem important to tuck in his shirt, so he left it hang over the breeches like a gown.

Aboard the _Black Pearl_, Jack and Elizabeth could only stare in wonderment at the steadily approaching ships, both proudly flying East India Trading Company ensigns.

"Apparently their intentions were not thwarted by the destruction o' the _Endeavour_," he murmured. "Now they've e'en more reason to blow us out o' the water th' next chance they get."

"Which looks to be this'n," Barbossa cut in, having made his way to the main deck as well.

"We're not goin' to have enough crew t' man th' guns," Jack commented, looking worried. "I wish we'd have not _rid_ ourselves of th' others."

Elizabeth scowled; another jab directed at her.

"Even if there were enough men, we've only a few remaining cannonballs," she mentioned coldly. "Wholly inadequate in fending off two ships. We've no way of defending ourselves"

"If we be able t' escape this intact, our nex' plan should be to make port elsewhere an' pick up some more crew, as well as weapons," Barbossa replied.

"Let's work on that firs' part… firstly," Jack muttered. _How is it possible that any ship can be catching up wiv us? The_ Pearl_'s one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean. No way can two generic ships of the Company be overtakin' us. But it's happening…._

Jack looked up at the sky, thinking of his former lover Tia Dalma, the sea goddess Calypso in human form. _It's you doin' this, is it not? You're messin' wiv th' winds so as to give them th' advantage! Seems a bloody shame for us liberators of you to have defeated th' entire fleet o' th' East India Trading Company only to be brought down shortly thereafter by two minor ships o' theirs, in pirate territory, no less… Don' you think?_

A steady wind began to pick up, allowing the _Pearl_ to put some distance between herself and her pursuers. Jack let out a long-held sigh and looked up towards the heavens, tipping his hat to the goddess.

The pursuing ships began to fall further and further back, until they were side-by-side with each other, the captains most likely communicating back and forth. They then diverted paths and again moved at maximum speed.

All of a sudden they heard the blasts of cannonade roaring behind them. Two cannonballs struck the hull on the stern of the ship, under the captain's quarters. The entire crew of the ship felt the thundering blow, and staggered to stay on foot.

"Man your stations!" Jack shouted to the crew, who had been rendered frozen by the sudden attack. They scurried off in their respective directions.

Barbossa pulled out his telescope. "Both th' ships be usin' their long nines," he stated. "If we could only pull ahead a slight bit more, we'd be outta their range."

"We're into the wind as far as we can go!" Gibbs yelled. "The wind can't help us any more than it has, unless a major gale comes along!"

"We could always jettison a few of our heavier supplies," Barbossa advised.

"We have no supplies as it is!" Jack cried. "Wot could we possibly jettison to lighten th' load?" Suddenly he had an idea. "Wot about Beckett? That'd prolly free us up one hundred forty pounds or so."

* * *

Hmm... What should you do now? How about.. leaving me a review! I'd love ya for it! ;)


	21. Close Proximity And Its Consequences

Warnings: there be some innuendo in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

Elizabeth scowled. "That's great; rid ourselves of the only bargaining chip we've got!"

He looked back at her knowingly. "I'm well aware that _that's_ not why you wanna keep 'im here," he said. "You're too busy exactin' your revenge on said captive to consider usin' him in a bargain. Do you really think that jus' because we've got Beckett here wiv us that they're goin' to hold their fire?"

What he had said was true, and it felt like a slap across her face. Her keeping Beckett in captivity elicited no advantage to anyone else aboard the ship.

"What then shall we be jettisonin' to lighten the ship?" Barbossa cut in, rolling his eyes.

"The anchor may be holding us back," Elizabeth noted, watching it swing on the cathead like a pendulum. Barbossa and Jack glanced at it as well.

"Th' bloody _anchor_?" Jack looked indignant.

* * *

Soon the _Pearl_ was freed of her anchor and had noticeably picked up speed. Gibbs stood on the quarterdeck of the ship with Barbossa, watching the pursuing ships fall farther and farther behind. Jack could only frown glumly as he stood at the bow of the ship, staring at the cathead where the anchor had once hung.

"That anchor's been wiv th' _Pearl_ since before it was rechristened," he murmured seemingly to himself.

Elizabeth suddenly appeared next to him.

"Don't worry; I'm sure we'll pillage another in due time," she commented, putting a comforting hand on his back and smiling at him encouragingly.

He turned fully to face her.

"You really are a pirate; you know that?" he told her, flashing her a toothy grin.

"I'm sure there'd be no chance I could set foot in Port Royal again, being as they'd string me up as quickly as they would you."

"'Tis true," he said, pulling a flask of rum out of a pocket of his waistcoat. "'Cept they'd prolly string me up wiv a little more urgency, bein' as I've already escaped 'em several times."

"I in turn escaped them, if you remember," Elizabeth said. "My own father broke me out of the dungeon." Her countenance suddenly fell.

He draped an arm across her shoulders. "Th' fact that you now refer to them as 'them' is a true sign, Lizzie. There's no turnin' back now."

She allowed for his arm to stay. "I guess not," she replied. Suddenly she let out a chuckle. "I never thought two years ago that my life would turn out like this."

He looked at her, an expression of mild hurt evident. "It isn't all bad, eh?"

"Well, it's been much more exciting than a life of corsets and balls would allow. I'd be married to James. And, being married to a Commodore of the Royal Navy, I would have probably even sided with Beckett and the Company."

He laughed. "Nah," he said. "You got that fierceness an' rebelliousness wiv-in you, luv. E'en if your choice o' dress an' spouse don' reflect it, you can't deny your heart."

Jack was hitting on her again. That much was obvious, and it was making her lightheaded and uncomfortable. Suddenly she remembered.

"Shouldn't we check on Beckett? The cannonballs struck somewhere in the region of the brig," she said, casually shrugging his arm off her shoulders.

"Ah, right," he said hesitantly, following her below deck. Once the pair had arrived in the brig, the scene shocked her.

One of the cannonballs had entered the aft end of the ship, and had hurtled its way into the grating of the very cell Beckett was in. In the process, it had buckled the cell door, rendering the bent grating useless in being locked or even in being opened. Another of the cannonballs had made a breech in the hull where it had entered the brig, but was nowhere in sight. Jack and Elizabeth followed a path from the breech to the hold, where the cannonball was found rolling around next to the ship's supply of gunpowder.

"Oh, thank th' heavens!" Jack exclaimed happily, practically skipping over to the cannonball. Elizabeth watched this with mild interest.

"Don' you see?" he cried. "We could've been _Endeavour_ number two if th' cannonball had struck the kegs o' gunpowder!"

"Oh!" suddenly she was totally concerned, not having known the contents of the kegs.

"I think from now on, we gotta stow away our gunpowder wiv more thought. Also, we need a good deal more," he said, gently nudging each of the four kegs of gunpowder with the tip of his boot.

The pair made their way back to the brig, where Beckett was lying on his side as far away from the cell door as was possible. He spoke as soon as they entered, his voice haughty.

"As Barbossa pointed out, you may need to use me as leverage in securing a delayed death upon the return of the East India Trading Company, so shouldn't you be doing more to ensure my protection?"

"You're surrounded on three sides by iron gratin'. Wot more protection could ye possibly need?" Jack commented, looking bored as he stared at his grimy fingernails.

"Those cannonballs could have killed me," Beckett replied indignantly from his position on the floor.

"Mayhap, but it was th' iron gratin' that _protected_ you. The cannonballs coulda killed us as well. Not a one aboard th' ship is safer than you are in here."

"Who was attacking?"

Jack hesitated. Should he admit that the East India Trading Company was already seeking revenge? _Nah…_Thankfully Elizabeth had kept her mouth shut this entire time, probably wondering the same thing.

"'Twas th' _Wanderin' Caribbean_ an' her sister ship, th' _Greedy Knave_, keen on th' fact that we pillaged her crew in Tortuga for all they was worth."

"And what sort of ships were they?"

"I tend to think they were barks," was the reply. Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically.

Beckett looked irritated.

"I meant to say, what sort of _alliance_—"

"Ah, well, you shoulda been more clear. They were buccaneer ships, prone to dockin' at th' last remaining free ports o' the Caribbean."

"How was it that you recognized them that well, as to know them by _name_, if they were so far away as to only fire off two shots?"

"Well, me crew recognized them upon disembarking in Tortuga an' in robbin' them o' course, an' so when they began their pursuit, 'twas obvious that they'd be th' likely ships to do so."

"Ah, I see. I guess that word does not travel fast in the pirate world that the _Black Pearl_ is the ship that should be revered above all other ships."

"Guess not," Jack said, kicking the ground. "However, it's only been a couple o' days. In time, they'll look back upon their pillagin' by th' _Pearl_'s crew as an honour."

Barbossa soon appeared on the ladder to the brig. Jack and Elizabeth held their breath as to what sort of admission he'd be making as to the actual identity of their pursuers.

"We're fully out o' their range. They've turned back."

Beckett began to open his mouth, but Jack beat him to it, clapping his hands together excitedly in the process.

"So _good_ of us to escape th' bloody buccaneers we pillaged _all_ those supplies from! I guess now they're realizin' jus' how much we took an' so need to restock!" he exclaimed, turning to Barbossa with an expression of wariness.

Thankfully the older captain read Jack's expression.

"Aye," Barbossa said, nodding his head at Jack. "Either that or they got word that it was th' _Pearl_ tha' defeated th' East India Trading Comp'ny fer _all_ our pirate brethren."

Elizabeth and Jack both felt a wave of relief wash over them. Fortunately Barbossa had been very noticing of Jack's way of conveying to hide the true identities of the pursuing ships.

"Jack, I need t' talk t'ye back on deck," Barbossa said quietly. Jack gave Elizabeth an unreadable look and then he was gone.

Elizabeth stood in the brig in front of Beckett. He motioned towards the cell door.

"Have you attempted to open the door?" he asked her.

"You know how long I've been down here. I haven't had the chance. Why, have you tried it?"

"No," he said in an annoyed voice. "Although I'm quite inclined to assume that it's stuck shut."

"You would hope that you could convince me of that," she said, "only to kick out of your cell late one night and—"

"And what, exactly?" he interrupted. "Where am I to go? In case you haven't realized, I'm stuck aboard a bloody _ship_."

"That detail has not escaped me," she replied. "You'd have nowhere to go. I daresay you're doomed to remain aboard this ship until you are released by us."

"If the door is indeed stuck shut, as I believe it is, how am I to receive food and water? And, being as there are no convenient breeches in the hull within the confines of my cell, how am I to—" he stopped speaking, hoping that she'd get the picture. Several moments of silence followed as she looked at him expectantly.

"How are you to what?" she asked. He sighed exasperatingly.

"I don't want to have to explain it to you," he said, obviously frustrated.

"Then how am I supposed to know what you wish to convey?" she replied, crossing her arms.

"How am I supposed to carry out a very basic human necessity that you have already denied me once." It hadn't come out as a question, but then again, most things Cutler Beckett said had a very deadpan feel to them.

She then realized what he meant, and frowned.

"You don't have to go now, do you?" she asked, looking suspicious.

"No." Having to answer such a direct question from a woman made him shift uncomfortably.

"Why don't you stand up and try to open the door yourself?"

"I am not in the sort of state that would allow for such an activity."

She chuckled. "I take it you've never been flogged before," she said.

"Neither have you, so I can't possibly imagine how you could be a judge of my condition," he said dryly. He suddenly formulated a picture in his head of Elizabeth being flogged. _Tied down, over the barrel of a gun, skirts raised up over her back. Watching her bare bottom change to an angry shade of red as she squeals for mercy and squirms about. _The thought alone was causing some unwelcome feelings within him. He could feel his breeches tightening. He swallowed silently, hoping she'd leave him alone soon, so he could be left to his thoughts. _And what thoughts they are_, he mused, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. Thankfully his shirt covered anything that could reveal his present condition.

"You're right; I have never been flogged," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't tend to do things that result in punishment."

Wordlessly Beckett gripped the grating of his cell and haltingly pulled himself to his feet. Elizabeth could see that it was a struggle for him to move. He slowly trod over to where she was standing, and stood in front of the bars, his right arm supporting his left arm as he touched his face, knuckles resting on his lips. His face was inches from her own, and she could even feel his breath on her face.

"Escaping from the dungeons of Port Royal… Forcing me at gunpoint to sign Letters of Marque… Resorting to piracy as well as aiding in the escape of a known pirate… Oh, yes, and commencing to blow up the flagship of the East India Trading Company. To me, those sound like grievances well-deserved of punishment."

She laughed spitefully.

"Yes, punishment in the form of _execution_, but not of a mere flogging."

"A _mere_ flogging?" he said, raising his voice. "I'd like to see _you_ withstand such a beating. Execution would not be so harsh."

"Well, you will not see such an event while aboard this ship," she replied.

"Yes… what a spectacle that would be," he said thoughtfully as he stroked his chin, a naughty little smile playing across his lips. He looked her straight in the eye, then up at the cat o' nine tails hanging on the nail, and then back at her, his smile spreading.

He was _flirting_ with her – in a creepy sort of way. Needless to say, it rendered her extremely ill at ease.

"I would hope that you would retain a sense of decency while speaking to a woman," she retorted. His smile faded.

"Certainly… Mrs. Turner." Her married name had come out rather strangely and croakily in his voice, but it was a start. He turned away rather anticlimactically, and walked to the other side of the cell.

* * *

Elizabeth soon left the brig and had met up with Jack and Gibbs on the quarterdeck.

"We have decided to make berth in Curaçao an' pick up some more crew an' supplies," Jack announced to her.

"—But how will we know about the East India Tra—"

"That's somethin' we _won't_ know," Jack interrupted. "But we have decided to make port there at night, so we can fill th' _Pearl_ up from th' dock, instead o' havin' to deal wiv the limitations we have usin' the longboat."

"Though, aren't you worried about—"

He looked resolute.

"I've never been worried about th' Royal Navy or th' East India Trading Comp'ny before, an' I'll be damned if I'm gonna start now…"

His expression was dead serious, and countenance stony. This greatly impressed Elizabeth, who felt a flickering within her stomach at this side of Jack. It was only every once in a while that his courage was revealed fully, and this was one of them. And so shortly after they had already been attacked by two ships of the Company!

He looked over at her, and continued his speech. "After all, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, flashing her his most roguish grin yet.

It was nearly impossible to hold back the swoon Elizabeth was feeling at the moment, gazing at the captain with whom she had once shared a passionate, languorous kiss.

"That's so courageous of you," she blurted dreamily, and gave him a genuine smile, her lips slightly parted as she stared at him, lost in the moment.

Jack took notice of this warm reception, and steadily leaned toward her, well-aware that she was not leaning away by any means….

* * *

Thanks for the reviews for this past chapter! I hope you are all enjoying this story! I plan on continuing updating every day through Christmas break as well!


	22. Peanut

Warnings: none

* * *

Jack's mouth was mere inches from Elizabeth's. She had been staring at him, fluttering her eyelashes as he leaned in, yet she couldn't seem to pull away, or even say anything. Her mind was a complete blank.

Gibbs watched this unfold with intense interest, yet vouched on using his peripheral vision to observe this potential kiss. _But what is t' happen once they kiss? Will th'_ Dutchman _rise from th' sea to wreak vengeance on her captain's wife, by takin' the ship an' all? We need t' keep the _Dutchman_ an' her cap'n happy, at least fer the time bein', knowin' as she's our only ally willin' t' fight fer the pirate cause. Also, she's a bad ship t' be on the outs with._

Just before their lips would touch, Gibbs suddenly yelled, startling Jack and Elizabeth backwards. Jack responded to Gibbs with a look of irritation; Elizabeth actually looked relieved.

"Wot the bloody hell was that for?" Jack asked him, his voice tinged with anger. "Nearly scared the livin' daylights out o' me, that's wot!" He pretended not to have just been so very intimately associated with Elizabeth, focusing his gaze on the First Mate.

Gibbs felt slightly embarrassed, although he knew what he had done was for the best.

"If'n ye can't figure out why I did what I did when I did it, Cap'n, then surely ye not be thinkin' o' the consequences that could result."

Jack looked at Gibbs bemusedly.

"I was rather lookin' _forward_ to th' consequences of such an act," he said matter-of-factly, glancing suggestively at Elizabeth. She frowned at him in response.

"I be meanin' the consequences dealin' with th' _Dutchman_ an' her new cap'n," Gibbs continued.

"What dear Cap'n Turner doesn't know won't hurt 'im," was Jack's lackadaisical response.

"Ah, but ye don' know that fer certain, do ye? Or else I think ye mighta moved in a bit quicker fer the kill."

"I'm as certain as I ever could be, aside from bein' able to ask directly whomever came up wiv th' rules in th' firs' place."

"Well, ye knew Tia Dalma; what idea o' it did ye get from her?"

"She messed aroun' wiv me on an' off for _years_," he said. "Not sure though if that fell before or after Jones cut out 'is heart." He flashed a look of mild disgust at the thought.

"I'd venture t' say _after_, bein' as th' two of 'em have been around fer _centuries_. Ye made yer deal with Jones thirteen years ago. Was he all tentacly then?"

"Yes," Jack said, sighing in defeat.

"Well, If you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to," Elizabeth said, starting to leave, her face a slight shade of pink.

Jack grabbed her by the arm, pulling her so that she was facing him once more.

"He forgave you easily enough for leavin' me to die, an' for wotever else," he told her, his voice almost a whisper. "But do you believe he honestly expects that you are not to give into temptation at least once in ten years?"

"Actually, that's nine years, three-hundred and sixty-two days," she replied.

He had been deflated. _She's actually counting the days to seeing him again! What is it that the bloody eunuch has over me?_

* * *

A week passed without major run-in with ships of the Company or of the Line, for that matter. The _Pearl_ remained on due course to Curaçao, though light on any type of weaponry or ammunition that would be needed if an enemy approached. Elizabeth did all she could to avoid any confrontation with Jack, and it had been rather difficult. Their shared kiss before Jack's Kraken-induced demise was something that she could rather look forward to again… if it wasn't for her obligation to Will, of course.

_But is it possible that I don't have to remain faithful to him; just showing up in ten years being enough? Damn Jack for putting this doubt… this, I hate to say it, _hope_, in my mind that I won't have to be reduced to pining away in some lonely little homestead far from civilization. Is it not possible for Will's feelings to change in ten years? After all, he and I both are only human._

She would notice Jack subtly eyeing her as she stood at the helm, or ate, or drank, or sat or stood aboard deck – well, Jack was always looking at her. It was unnerving, because to notice him looking at her, she had to have been looking at him.

_He's probably thinking I'm just playing hard to get. Is that what I'm doing?_

She also noticed Gibbs taking an interest in the interactions between her and Jack. When he would catch Jack or her looking at each other, he'd strike up conversation with one of them – usually Jack – and steer the pair apart.

Elizabeth could sense the excitement in the crew as they went about their duties in keeping the _Pearl_ on course to Curaçao. Ragetti was the only crewmember who seemed to always be sulking around, stumbling around the darkest and tightest of hiding spots. It was rather odd.

After the attack from the EITC ships, Elizabeth had instructed the cell door of the brig to be repaired in order to be useable again. Somehow, the burliest pirates aboard the ship had been able to wrench the cell door back open, and using one of their two newly acquired cannonballs from the EITC ships, hammered it back to a somewhat normal shape. Its ability to stay locked was questionable at most, but it made do without any escape attempts from Beckett.

Rather, Beckett remained completely silent, usually found to be lying on his belly or his side in the brig when Elizabeth would carry down food and drink. He'd be shivering almost the entire time, though it was not the least bit cold, and she'd consider giving him back his coat. However, she wanted it to be rewarded to him for a good deed, rather than out of pity. She had originally intended on slowly starving him to wear down his resolve, but the pitiful way he looked each morning when she would come to check up on him had caused her to change her mind.

Even though she had changed her mind about not feeding the captive, her efforts were all for naught. Each time she'd come to collect the food, it would still be sitting upon the plate. At first she thought it was because of the gruel she had been serving him, but he even refused to eat the salted meat she had started providing. He had been drinking the water she was giving him, but the fact that he hadn't eaten for almost a week was troubling.

Three times a day she'd descend to the brig to check up on Beckett, who would only speak when asking to use the toilet. It seemed that he was constantly sulking. He was slowly weakening, that she could also tell. His face was alarmingly pale yet always beaded with sweat, and it even seemed that the bones of his face were protruding.

"I think he's trying to kill himself," she told Jack, as they ate lunch in the captain's quarters separately from the rest of the ship. Jack had somehow gotten away from Gibbs's watchful eye and asked her to dine with him. She had obligingly agreed, unable to think of an excuse to avoid doing so. Besides, Jack's food, although the same as what the rest of the crew ate, was somehow prepared tastier….

The _Black Pearl_ was two days from reaching her destination of Curaçao for this afternoon meeting.

"An' why do you say that?" he inquired, morbidly curious.

"He has not eaten in a week. He barely speaks. All he does is lie all day in his cell, not so much as even attempting to move, save for shivering."

"Really? Why didn' you tell me earlier?"

"Well, what could you possibly do about it? It was my burden to bear, being as I'm the one ultimately responsible for him."

"I'm sure he's perfectly capable o' bein' _forced_ to eat," he replied, looking roguish. "After we finish up, we'll work together an' shove that food down 'is throat, whether he wants it or not."

"Sounds pleasant," she mumbled through gritted teeth.

"It most certainly won't be pleasant, but it's th' only way he's gonna stay in th' land o' th' livin', I fear." He blanched. "A whole week wivout food, I cannot even imagine. An' that's sayin' somethin'."

"Are you recalling the horrors of a day spent on a beach drinking rum, I imagine?" Elizabeth ventured, grinning at him. She remembered the day that Barbossa had marooned her and Jack on the same island that Jack had been marooned upon a decade before, after Barbossa's mutiny against him.

Oh, the stories he had tried to convince her of, of his previous stay on the island. Escaping on sea turtles indeed! He had told her the truth about the rum runners, however, and it was possible that she

* * *

was the only one who knew what had occurred.

He gave her a knowing smile.

"Luv, I have been shot thrice, stabbed countless times, slapped by possibly every woman I have ever known, imprisoned, branded, hanged…. twice, I believe, only to be saved in th' nick o' time… I have been mutinied upon, watched my ship bein' sunk in front o' me own eyes, an' had to kiss the gunner's daughter meself at one point." A look of surprise crossed Elizabeth's face, as she listened to him continue to speak. "I've been kicked when I was down, eaten by th' Kraken after bein' sent to my death by a most _interestin'_ form o' betrayal…" He watched her face turn red. "Spent time in Davy Jones's locker, as you are well-aware. An' yet, through it all, I always managed to keep an appetite… even if was only for a mere peanut." The look of confusion on her face in response to the peanut issue dissuaded him from really wanting to explain the situation aboard the _Pearl_ while in the locker. "Maybe one's appetite changes when one _wants_ to die. Wouldn't know th' feelin', meself."

"I know I should have said something earlier, but I wouldn't have been able to force him to eat without a ridiculous array of threats."

"Well, you could always charge me wiv that duty. Bein' as you an' Barbossa are the ones havin' already taken action on 'im, I'll gladly threaten to be the next. Prepared to do so now, even. Don' you worry anymore about 'im; this'll be fun."

He gave her a toothy smile, and finding herself involuntarily smiling back, she averted her eyes.

After they finished up their meal, Jack and Elizabeth proceeded to the brig with some remnants of food and drink for their captive.

There they found a frightening sight.

Beckett was lying facedown in his cell, motionless.

* * *

Sorry this chapter is so short! The next chapter will be longer, and will contain various smatterings of pairing(s?)? I apologize once again for how short this is.


	23. Sea Turtle

Warnings: nothin' really worth mentionin'

* * *

Elizabeth ran over to the cell door, her heart pounding. _Has he died?_ Horrible thoughts raced through her head. _I killed him. I should have said something sooner! Oh, God, I starved him to death. How painful that must have been for him! What suffering he must have endured! I cannot imagine a worse death… even for such a man. He did not deserve to die in such a way._

She threw open the door and knelt down beside the captive, who had not so much as stirred upon her loud entry. Quickly she pushed his body onto his back, so that he was now lying face up. Jack entered the cell as she began to try to rouse him.

"Beckett," she said in a fearful voice. "Beckett, wake up!" It did not appear that he was breathing, or else he must have been breathing shallowly enough that it was not noticeable. She grabbed a wrist and let it drop. It fell to the floor with a thud, and no response from its owner. She placed her head on his chest to listen for his heartbeat.

A heartbeat was there, faint but steady.

"He's alive, Jack. I can hear his heart beating. What should we do?"

"I guess we can always pry 'is mouth open an' shove some—"

"Not that. He's sick, Jack. There has to be an underlying reason as to why he hasn't been eating. We've got to do something before he dies."

"It matters not to me wot results from this," Jack responded. "I'm not gonna inconvenience meself to nurse 'im back to health only to beat 'im down again or turn 'im over to the Comp'ny. 's jus' not worth my time. I've killed many a more worthy man."

"How could you be so heartless?" she countered. The accusation was unexpected, and caused him to show a look of shock.

"Lizzie, I'm not bein' heartless; I'm jus' bein' rational. 's obvious he's not gonna be aroun' much longer, so you may as well not get all worked up o'er it."

"—But—"

"We outlaws don' have th' medicine or th' expertise to fix such a state as this. Many a good man, even aboard me own ship, have died from jus' this very thing. 's not your fault he's dyin' though; this is unfortunately very common."

"And you don't know what it is?"

"If I had, don' you think I would have mentioned it already?"

"Yes, but—"

"It's no use, luv. You tried your best, but you can't control wot happens."

"What do you propose we do then?"

"I think a proper burial at sea would suffice," was the reply.

"Meaning…" She looked suspicious.

"We dump th' body o'er the side o' the _Pearl_. If you feel so bad you can even say a few words. Wot say you to that?"

Suddenly Elizabeth had an idea.

"I think I'd rather get rid of the body by myself," she said. "Once he _dies_, of course." She shot Jack a look of annoyance.

"Wotever you say, luv." He touched her tenderly on the shoulder, squatting down to her level. "I know that you tried your best. It's his problem that he wouldn' eat; not yours."

With that, he rose and left the brig. Elizabeth was now alone with Beckett's motionless body.

"Beckett, can you hear me?" she asked quietly, seeing no sign of response. She flipped the body onto its belly again, and slowly lowered the back of his breeches. The stab wound and flogging wounds had turned an ugly shade of green, and had developed a layer of frothy greenish foam over each individual skin injury.

Elizabeth left the brig briefly so as to return with some food and water once again. She flipped the body back onto its back, lifted his head off of the ground and poured the liquid down his throat, hearing a subsequent swallowing sound. Apparently his involuntarily reflexes still remained, and he wasn't choking, either.

"I'm going to return later on this evening," she said to the lifeless man cradled in her arms. "Maybe I can do something about this."

* * *

Several hours later Elizabeth descended to the brig, finding Beckett in the same position she had left him in. Immediately her heart began to hammer. _He's probably passed since last I saw him_, she mused, pushing herself through the cell door.

After putting her head to his chest again, she found a heartbeat was still present. _What should I do with you? And what is it with this damn maternal instinct of mine, to want to help _you_, of all people? I recall being hell-bent on revenge less than two weeks ago. Hmph. Well, first of all, it can't be conducive to your health to lie on the floor of this dank brig all day. You need to be warm and dry. But where?_

Suddenly she thought of her cabin, and its warm bed. _No_, she told herself. _…but there are no other cabins – or beds – available on the ship._ _I have an extra set of sheets. I think the affliction he has stems from the wounds on his bottom. Otherwise he's probably healthy enough. I really don't think I can catch whatever he has. _

She had decided that he had to be moved to her cabin. _The fact that he's unconscious will make it easy to keep him there_, she mused, as she dragged him by hooking her forearms under his armpits and staggering backwards. _You're quite heavier than you look._

Eventually, after several exhaustive attempts to pull him up the stairs, she somehow reached the top step, now in a low squat, his body hanging down the stairs. Her chest was heaving with exertion and her face was probably the colour of a beet by now, but she couldn't give up, not when she was this close…

Using her entire weight, she leaned back on her heels and toppled backwards onto the gun deck, Beckett's body finally reaching the apex of the ladder. It was then easy to drag him across the gun deck and over to her cabin.

She placed him on her bed on his stomach and set to working on his wounds with a bottle of rum, some turpentine, as well as some prepared poultices.

She poured the rum onto a clean terry cloth that the crew had picked up in Tortuga. Gingerly she placed the rum-soaked cloth on the most infected of the wounds and let it set there. She did the same with his other wounds. Soon, most of the foamy material had been seemingly soaked up by the cloth. Her face twisted into a scowl of disgust, she tossed the used cloths into an empty jar nearby. She placed poultices on his wounds and then covered him with a fresh bedsheet.

Elizabeth used a basin in the captain's cabin to clean up her hands. She looked back at the still body of Cutler Beckett on her bed under the covers. _What possessed me to bring him in here; him, of all people? Well, like Jack said, he's probably on his last leg, so more than likely he won't be here for long._ _Still, the idea of him dying in my bed… disturbing, to say the least. _She hadn't even thought about what she was going to do when it came time for her to sleep. Sighing, she gave the room one last look around and then walked towards Jack's cabin, shutting the door behind her.

After knocking on the door, she was greeted by Jack, who had been charting the _Pearl_'s course upon leaving Curaçao with a sextant. He was still holding the shiny metal object when he opened the door for her to enter.

"Are you busy?" she asked timidly, looking about the dimmed room, seeing the charts unraveled on his desk.

"Not at all, luv. Come join me party."

She entered his cabin more apprehensively than usual, remembering what she had seen here last time she had entered. A lantern sat on the very corner of his desk, faintly illuminating the charts with its orangey glow. Several others were positioned around the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As she passed by his desk, she took interest in the charts.

"Ah, so you've finally got your heading and now you're charting the course," she said, relief tingeing her voice.

"That is mostly correct," he said. "I was jus' finishin' up. Have you been to Curaçao before?"

"No, I can't say I have," she replied. "What's it like?"

"We're only about a day an' a half from it now," he said. "It's the greatest free port in th' Caribbean. E'en puts Tortuga to shame."

"Why didn't we go there first then?"

"Eh, Tortuga was closer. An' why not shoot for close if it's possible to get all th' supplies there?"

"That's true, but then again, there was more of a risk of running into the East India Trading Company there as well."

He held a finger up.

"A risk that I was willin' to take, an' more'n happy to overcome."

"With the loss of an anchor," she said. He responded with a gloomy look. "Don't worry; I'm sure we'll pick up one when we get there," she said comfortingly.

"Speakin' of jetsam, how's Beckett holdin' up?"

She shook her head, looking concerned. "I don't know if he's going to make it to Curaçao."

"Don' worry, I'm sure he won't be missin' out; more'n likely he's been there before, if only to slaughter a few dozen pirates," he replied. He strode over to the other side of his cabin, picking up something bowl-shaped and carrying it back over in both hands.

"You've got to try this," he told her, showing her the item. It was an upside-down turtle shell full of cooked meat.

"What is it?"

"Sea turtle."

"Did you catch it?"

He laughed. "It's an interestin' story. Apparently Ragetti took it upon hisself t' snare a livin' turtle from Tortuga wivout mentionin' it to anyone else. Well, the crew was rather in th' mood for somethin' different an' I don' like Ragetti anyway, so we managed t' pillage it from him an' make use o' it."

"I was wondering what he's been looking all over the place for these past several days," she said. "Must have been twice as hard to look with one eye."

Jack let out a hearty chuckle, and thrust the shell at Elizabeth. "Try some; it's quite th' delicacy in these parts."

She tentatively took a small piece and allowed it to sit on her tongue, tasting the foreign flavor.

"Oh, it tastes so exotic," she said with a smile, after swallowing the piece. He held out the shell for her to try more.

Soon the two of them were sitting cross-legged on a low bench, holding the turtle shell between them and conversing easily as they ate the rare delicacy. She was oblivious to his flirtations, simply enjoying the company and the food.

Once the turtle meat was gone, Jack could see Elizabeth's disappointment evident on her face.

"I do hope you'll notify me when you have sea turtle again," she said, a pleading look on her face.

"Aye," he replied. "You see… when somethin' is good quality an' enjoyable, one cannot help but want to try it again as soon as possible." He looked at her with bedroom eyes, but she was oblivious. "It's an instinctive… natural…" –he moved towards her ever so slowly – "…involuntary… an' completely blameless urge one has."

By his positioning up against her side, shoulder-to-shoulder, her suspicions were aroused.

"I fail to see why you need to explain my newfound love for turtle meat at such length," she said with an air of caution.

"But it's that length that is able to explain it all," he replied, voice husky. "It's not _your _fault that you would like to taste turtle meat again."

"What are you trying to get at, Jack?" she said, craning her neck away from him.

His expression suddenly turned to that of outright innocence.

"Somethin' suddenly occurred to me, is all," he said. "I have discovered the true meanin' o' life."

She looked interested but suspicious, a small smile playing across her face.

"And that would be…"

He took a large intake of air into his lungs.

"It would be the idea that life's all about makin' yourself happy an' contented; an' if that can simultaneously occur wiv th' happiness an' contentment of another _livin'_ individual, then that's e'en better. There's only one life to live – 'cept o' course in Barbossa's an' my case – so why not make th' most of your limited years here on earth. For example, ten years from now, it could be possible that neither one o' us is alive! I say, bugger th' guilt an' negativity that may stem from doin' wot you want, 'cause wot use do they serve anyway, 'cept in stealin' away your own happiness? An' _that_, my friend, is wot should matter most."

He finished his rambling speech with a suggestive smile, which stirred up a wave of uncertainty in Elizabeth.

_He's right though; what if I'm not around in ten years? What if I wait nine years being completely chaste, living a completely boring life, and then I die shortly before Will returns? I've wasted what life I have left. _

_Or what if when we arrive in Curaçao, the East India Trading Company is waiting there, and blows us all to bits?_ _I'll only have had one… intimate experience, one time of feeling completely, totally, out of control with emotion. I wish everyday to feel it again. Oh, why did you have to die, Will?_

_But you're not dead…technically. You'll return in ten years as complete as when you left me…. well, without a heart. Having no heart could constitute deceased. …But why am I trying to classify you as dead? Is it a way to reduce the incredible guilt I feel for weakening to temptation? You were angry with me when you thought I loved Jack. But if it's true that love is instinctive and natural, then it's not my fault at all. But do I love Jack? _

_I think that as long as I keep my wits about me, I should be able to resist him. And I will not so much as touch Jack's stupid compass, for my sake as well as his. _

* * *

Ahh, a much longer chapter than last! Sorry for not much Beckett, but there'll be more in the next chapter!


	24. Instinct

Warnings: none

* * *

"Wot's on your mind, luv?" Elizabeth heard Jack say, and snapped out of her reverie. She stood up hastily, grasping for the right words to leave quickly.

"I'm thinking…" she had to get out of there – fast. "…that I need to check up on Beckett, to see if he's… made it."

Jack rose from the bed. "I can accompany you in your feat to keep him afloat," he offered.

"That won't be necessary. I don't want to spend any more time down there than I need to, and if you came along, there'd probably be conversation, which would stall us."

"Conversation between us, you mean? I could prevent that by simply not talking."

"I'll be back later," she said. "I just want to get this over with."

And with that she pushed past him and left Jack's cabin, with him standing in the wake.

* * *

She arrived back at her own cabin and opened the door hesitantly, dreading what she might see.

There Beckett lay on his belly as before, except seeming to be covered higher up with the sheets than when she had left him. She crept into her cabin so as not to awake him, lest he be merely sleeping, and walked alongside the bed to peer at his face.

She could hear him breathing softly as his face held a kind of peaceful look in sleep. The sheets had been pulled up to just below his shoulders. She had only pulled it up to mid-back before.

_He would have had to have awakened to do that_, she mused. _Unless someone else came in here_.

She went back to the hold and brought back a plate of salted meat and a mug of fresh water. Placing them carefully on the floor by the bed, she left the room again.

Upon walking out of her cabin, she ran head-first into Jack.

"Wot's goin' on in there?" he said.

She looked defeated. _I may as well tell him. If I don't, he'll push his way into my cabin and wake Beckett up, which would be a disaster._

"It's Beckett…. I decided to bring him up from the brig… at least while he's unconscious… so that he may be able to recover."

"You're joking!"

"No." She shook her head sincerely.

"Then wot in th' bloody hell would possess you to bring th' man who killed your father up to your own cabin?"

Her eyes were downcast; she was immediately embarrassed.

"I thought he might recover if he was moved to a drier place," she replied, not able to look at the captain.

"An' why would you _want_ him to recover?" His voice fell low again. "Ahh, I know why. You still want to exact your revenge, am I right?"

She didn't have time to respond, before he continued.

"Or is it that the _guilt_ you feel from lettin' him fall into this state is jus' eatin' you alive, an' this is th' only way you can relieve said guilt, by nursin' him back to health?"

"I don't know," she said. "It's just… an instinct. I just feel obligated to help."

"Like a maternal instinct or whatnot? How would you even know wot one felt like, bein' as you've never been a mother?"

"I can't explain it, and I wouldn't expect you to understand. It's just something I need to do."

He looked decently convinced enough, but held a question on his face.

"If he is indeed on your very bed, where is it that you are sleepin', pray tell?"

It suddenly struck her that she had not considered this. The answer was easy enough, though.

"With the crew."

He shook his head rapidly.

"I cannot let you do that, luv," he said in a low voice.

"And why not?"

"Pintel," he said matter-of-factly. Dread filled her. He continued to speak.

"Don' you think he's been thinkin' of, _itchin'_ for ways to exact his revenge on you? Mayhap cop a feel on you whilst you sleep? Mayhap more? Th' temptation'd be right there in front o' him… lest you decide to stay wiv th' lot of 'em."

"Then what do you propose I do?" she said, crossing her arms. Suddenly, sleeping in the forecastle was not in her best interest.

"You can sleep in my cabin," he offered.

She laughed dryly in response.

"You're saying that _you're_ more trustworthy than Pintel?" she said.

"Well, as you said it yourself once, I'm a good man, an' bein' a good man, I'd never put you in a position that would, how did you put it… _compromise_ your honor."

"You _promise_ not to do _anything_ inappropriate to me, whether I'm awake _or_ asleep?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"You have my word," he said. Putting a hand to his heart, he bowed his head gracefully at Elizabeth.

She looked at him for signs of mischief, but he stayed perfectly respectful as he raised his head once more and left the threshold of her cabin.

_You better not tempt me, Jack_, she mused, as she watched the captain walk away. _My resolve is inclined to weaken further as time passes. _Suddenly a small hope rose that Beckett wouldn't make it and she could return back to her cabin. Her eyes became unfocused as she thought of her husband. _Will, I'm hoping that you'll see Beckett soon…both for my sanity and for your peace of mind._

_

* * *

_

The last couple of hours of daylight went by alarmingly slow, as Elizabeth found herself dreading every minute steadily nearing the time when she would be sleeping in Jack's cabin.

She spent her time watching the horizon and the lack of any visible land mass around the ship, as well as occasionally glancing into her room to check on Beckett's condition, lest he relieve himself in her bed. His body remained perfectly still, motionless enough that she had since convinced herself that he had not pulled up the covers.

When the time came for Elizabeth to descend to Jack's cabin, she waited until every last crewmember had gone down to their quarters, and leaned against the gunwale, staring off into the distance.

_Please help me to get through this night, Will_.

Her entire body aching with exhaustion, Elizabeth timidly knocked on the door to Jack's cabin, expecting the worst. _What if he opens the door to be wearing nothing? What is the appropriate way to react? To run away screaming? To slap him? Do I express anger, fear, or simply shock?_

Thankfully for Elizabeth, when Jack appeared at the door, he was fully clothed, save for his hat.

"Come in an' make yourself at home," he said pleasantly but respectfully, moving out of the way so that she could enter the room.

Upon entering Jack's cabin, she could see that he had lit a multitude candles and had stashed away his mess of maps. His bedsheets had even been restored to order. _He must really take me for a fool_, she mused, her brow wrinkling as she scanned the place. _Either that, or he knows something I don't…._

"We arrive in Curaçao on th' morrow," he said aloud.

She acknowledged him with a simple 'ah,' her mind engrossed on the present neatness of his cabin.

"Ye'll have to help me come up wiv a better list o' supplies before our arrival," he added.

"Certainly," she responded curtly. _This is rather nerve-wracking. When is he going to take his place on the floor so that I may sleep on the mattress?_

"In the meantime, we'll have to keep a weather eye out for sea tur—"

"So are you going to take the floor, or should I?" she blurted, immediately regretting her haste.

His mood suddenly shifted, from that of casual to that of thoughtful.

"A lady's place is ne'er on the floor," he said. "I would insist that you sleep in my bed."

She smiled at him politely and began to move towards the bed. Shockingly he was also moving in the same direction.

"What are you doing?" she asked him warily.

"Goin' to bed."

"—But I thought you said—"

"Yes, as I said, a lady's place is ne'er on the floor…"

She looked angry. He continued explaining.

"…but why should I sleep on th' floor in me own cabin for an indefinite amount o' time? Mayhap Beckett'll hang in there for awhile, an then I'd be forced to wake up all stiff an' immobile every mornin'…."

Hastily, she moved away from the bed, her face contorted into a scowl.

"I didn't think that _sleeping_ with you was part of our earlier agreement."

He smirked, noting a different context of the phrase.

"Is my word not sufficient enough to convince you that I have no intention o' doin' anythin' inappropriate?"

"No. Because I did not think that I would be sharing a bed with you."

"As I recall, you were not bashful about gettin' yourself fully inebriated on our island an' fallin' asleep in my presence."

She crossed her arms.

"I was only pretending to be drunk! Besides, you fell asleep first! Also, I wasn't betrothed to anyone at the time! The situation was completely different."

He put a finger up.

"Ah, ah, but I thought your fiancé at this point was Commodore Norrington," he stated.

"He had proposed, but I hadn't replied," she said snappily.

"Same difference."

"Whatever," she snapped. "But it's nothing like this situation. _I_ shall sleep on the floor then," she said.

He lunged forward.

"No! I forbid it! How could I e'er forgive myself for lettin' a respectable lady sleep on the floor o' my cabin. I will not allow it."

"Then could you—"

"Well, bein' as I'm twice your age an' the highest status on this ship to boot, I would much prefer not to sleep upon th' floor. It rather throws my back into a kink for days, an' th' respect of me crew would wane considerably."

"Ha! How would anyone even find out?"

"Simple; they'd see me walkin' aroun' wiv a bend in my back an' would know th' consequences."

"Likely."

There was a pause in conversation as Elizabeth looked longingly at the bed.

"C'mon, Lizzie. It's just a bed. The fact that you're makin' such a fuss o'er this is rather intriguing, to say th' least."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He sighed, peering at his fingernails idly.

"Had you been completely devoted to your dear William wivout question, this arrangement would all be no issue to you. Howe'er, it's tearin' you up inside to put yourself in a potentially tempting position, because you are _not_ immune to temptation, much to your dismay."

"I trust myself," she lied. "I just don't trust you."

"Wot have I e'er done in th' past to make you not trust me? As I recall, it was _you_ who chained me to th' ship to hasten my demise. It was _you_ who burned e'ery store o' me rum on rumrunner's isle, while I slept. An' it was _you_ who traded me o'er to Beckett in exchange for the whelp. You've tried to kill me not once, but several times, an' you even succeeded once."

He finished off his statement with a knowing smirk.

Elizabeth felt somewhat ashamed of the many times she had betrayed Jack's trust and had taken advantage of his feelings for her. But he had betrayed Will countless times!

"Well, _you_ tricked Will into going aboard the _Dutchman_ to pay your debt," she replied. "And you threw Will off the ship so as to attract the _Endeavour_. _You_ were the cause of his father being press-ganged into Davy Jones' crew, and—"

"You have not named but a single act that I have committed against your person, directly," he said nonchalantly. "I have less reason to trust you than you have to trust me. Is that not an accurate statement?"

_Oooh, the nerve of him to say such a thing! I should leave before I am liable to slap him._

"Then _don't_ trust me!" she spat, grabbing a candle. "I'm going elsewhere. You can have your bed all to yourself." She shoved her way past him and left his cabin, face flushed.

_Bloody hell_, she mused, fuming with rage. _Where am I to sleep?_

* * *

Thank you, reviewers! I'm sorry for the relative lack of Beckett in this chapter. I hope Jack was in character, being as he's been present a lot in the last couple of chapters! Beckett'll be in the next chapter more; I promise!


	25. Sleeping With The Enemy

Warnings: none

* * *

Elizabeth crept down to the forecastle, noticing a dozen or so empty bunks, from the leaving of the Singaporeans. Before she could see any of the crew's faces, she extinguished the candle.

_Thank heavens_, she thought, finding a bunk close to the wall, a decent distance from the sleeping crew. Silently she crawled into the hammock, using her peripheral vision to scope out the nearby sleepers. Gibbs was sleeping several bunks away, snoring rather loudly.

_That's a shame that Barbossa took over his cabin. It's not fair. Gibbs is too even-tempered for his own good. He lets just about anyone boss him around, with absolutely no dissention on his part._

Ragetti was only a couple of bunks diagonally from hers, and he had switched his eye patch to the other side of his face so that it was now covering his good eye, leaving his empty eye socket exposed by the glow of the moonlight through a porthole. He resembled a skeleton with hair, looking much like he still retained the curse of Cortés. It was creepy, to say the least.

In the dim light she then spotted Pintel, one eye half-open, staring directly at her hammock. _Does he sleep that way or is he waiting for me to fall asleep so he can…_

Hesitantly, she shut her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. She kept her eyes closed for about a minute, then slowly opened them to see Pintel suddenly shut his eyes.

_I can't deal with this tonight_, she said to herself. _I have to figure out something else. Actually, I'm surprised Jack hasn't come looking for me._

Sighing silently, she slid out of the hammock, picked up the candle, and lit it using the flame from a hanging lantern. She could hear the creaking of chains holding up a hammock. _Oh, God. Maybe Pintel is following me_. Picking up the pace, she soon reached a familiar door. Opening it just wide enough to squeeze in, she shut the door quickly and locked it behind her. By the candlelight, she could see that Beckett had not touched the food she had left for him.

_He's still unconscious_, she mused, watching his motionless form under the covers. _As harmless as can be. Even if he would regain consciousness, he'd be too shocked to try anything. I'd be awake by then. And I'll have my pistol at the ready beside the bed._

She cupped her hand around the flame as she made her way to the bed, Beckett taking up barely half of it with his slight body. A silent prayer to the sky, she slowly slid under the covers, avoiding Beckett at all costs. Her cabin was perfectly quiet, in stark contrast to the snoring pirates in the forecastle. _I can't believe I've gotten myself into this mess_, she mused. _Hopefully it'll all be over by the morrow._

* * *

Meanwhile, in his cabin, Jack could only retain a stance of shock as he realized he had blown his chance at having Elizabeth stay over.

"I shouldn't have mentioned the whelp," he murmured quietly to himself, pacing across the flooring. "But I will _not_ go lookin' for her now, lest she think I'm pursuin' her. She'll have to come back here at some point, 'cause there's no way she'll be stayin' in th' forecastle, wot wiv Pintel bein' present an' all."

He stared at the door.

"But wot if she stays down there, an' somethin' _does_ happen?"

He considered going to find her once again, but something held him back. He sat at his desk, watching the door.

"Guess I'll have to be all ears for any sort o' female screamin," he told himself. Several minutes passed in absolute silence, save for the drumming of his fingers on the desk. He eyed a bottle of rum sitting several feet away from him, and soon had it in his possession. Once he had downed the first couple swigs, he no longer had any interest in finding Elizabeth; and after half the bottle was gone, he was in bed, with naught but a care in the world.

* * *

Cutler Beckett slowly opened his eyes to the pitch black of the small room. It was shortly after dawn, but Elizabeth's cabin had no windows. Quickly he realized he was once again in bed on his stomach, and felt his heart racing at what would come next. Had the Singaporeans returned? Were they going to finish what they had started? He moved an arm and realized, thankfully, it was not restrained in any way. Next he shifted his left leg likewise, grazing something smooth and warm.

_What the bloody hell is that? _He mused, blanching at the realization of something next to him in the bed. _Oh no. What if they've already done the deed? But… how could I have slept through such a thing? _He cautiously grazed the soft thing again, allowing his eyes to adjust to the very dim light. There was definitely something beside him, but what? If it was a pirate, he would need to avoid waking said pirate at all costs.

He tried to make out shapes in the dark, propping up his upper body on an elbow. Eventually he saw the food plate to his right on top of a small table, a rotting odor wafting into his nose. To his left was definitely some_one_. He opened his eyes as wide as they would go in order to let in all possible light, moved his face in as close as possible without disturbing the person, and could make out a pair of closed eyes in the darkness. Female eyes, with long eyelashes and neatly arched eyebrows. _Elizabeth Turner's eyes_.

_What in God's name is this all about? _he mused, utterly stupefied, pulling his head away. _Has she poisoned me, and is currently waiting for my exact moment of death? If not, what could possibly possess her to sleep here?_

He looked again at Elizabeth, sleeping only about a foot away from him. Her eyes were closed peacefully, her hair forming a sort of halo-like frame around her face. The covers were pulled up to right below her chin, and her hands were folded together, keeping the covers in position. Her face showed no sign of anger or annoyance, just peacefulness. This was all very confusing.

As much as he wanted to know what was going on, he did not wish to wake her. _This may well be the only time she does not treat me with the utmost contempt_, he mused._ I might as well let the peace last as long as possible, because she certainly won't be happy when she awakens._

A thought occurred to him. _How did I end up in a bed again? At last recollection, I was in the brig. _

He lowered his head back onto the pillow, feeling tiny pricks from the feathers inside the fabric tickling his neck and chin. _I'll rest up on this relatively comfortable bed while I am still able. There must be some mistake._ He looked over at Elizabeth's sleeping form.

_Such nasty thoughts of vengeance lurking beneath such a calm visage,_ he mused, glancing one last time at Elizabeth's face as he lowered his upper body onto the mattress. _If I had known you to be capable of all this, I would've had you hanged outright. _

* * *

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that you have a wonderful holiday and that you have great fun with family and friends!


	26. Realization

Warnings: some mild cursin'

* * *

Several hours later, Elizabeth woke to the sounds of various thumpings about on deck indicative of the crew being awake. From the thin sliver of light coming from under the door, she could make out the sleeping figure next to her. Beckett hadn't changed position. His filthy wig still remained on his head, the tail of it lying on the pillow. His arms were down at his sides, and face presumably turned the other way. The food was still untouched, and his blankets looked very much the same.

_Has he still not regained consciousness?_ she mused. _Well, while's he still senseless, I should probably tend to his wounds. I'll do so before I need to unlock the door and go on deck._

She carefully leaned over the side of the bed, picking up the medical supplies: a few poultices, a flask of rum, a couple of cotton swabs, and a bottle of turpentine. After she had them assembled on the table by her bedside, she pulled the covers off of Beckett and watched intently for signs of consciousness. Nothing at all happened, not even a sigh or slightly louder intake of breath from him. And no sign of movement whatsoever.

Beckett had heard Elizabeth stir, but did not wish to move in turn. The longer he stayed asleep, the longer he'd get to stay in bed. _I'll be damned if I'm to return to the brig again_, he mused, keeping his eyes shut and body absolutely still. _What a miserable stinking hole that was._

After ensuring that the bedclothes were pulled amply back, she leaned towards his lower body, hooking on the waistband of his breeches with her fingers and pulling ever so carefully down. After his backside became visible, she steadily pulled the remainder of the way so that all the wounds were visible, then picked up the bottle of rum and uncorked it.

Suddenly Beckett's hands shot to the waistband of his breeches and yanked them up rapidly, startling Elizabeth so much as to drop the bottle, which spilled its contents all over Beckett's backside. _He's conscious? How long has he been so?_

The alcohol soaked quickly through the fabric, penetrating his raw wounds. At the first nauseatingly painful sting of the alcohol, Beckett yowled, clenching his backside in mind-numbing pain. He could only continue to utter barely intelligible curse words at the intense sting that had now been delivered to his most sensitive region.

He writhed about on the bed, burying his face deep within the pillow to muffle the involuntary sounds that left his mouth, kicking his legs as the sting and burn of the alcohol shot through every nerve of his body. Elizabeth sat there on the bed next to him, staring at him as he writhed in pain.

Once the stinging pain had reduced to a bearable amount, which was still high for Cutler's standards, he finally removed his face from the pillow and lifted his head to glare at Elizabeth.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing, removing my breeches?" he demanded, contempt in every feature of his face.

"I was cleaning your wounds," she matter-of-factly replied. "They were seeping and looked terrible."

"And what gives you the right to look at them?" he snarled.

"You would have died had I not," she replied. His frown softened a great deal, yet still remained on his face. He was through with speaking hastily.

"So I am to assume you've already cleaned the wounds." He looked uncomfortable thinking that she had been looking at him in such a way with him completely unaware.

"Yes, I have. You were in a coma, on the brink of death. Apparently I did well, because you've regained consciousness."

He dropped his head back onto the bed, his chin striking the pillow.

"Why couldn't you have let me die, then," he stated miserably. "I do believe you've exacted your revenge quite successfully. I'm of no further use to you."

"I never thought you'd be wishing for death so soon." She placed the rum bottle on the table by the bed.

"Ha. I've been wishing for death from day one," he said, gripping the pillow with his hands and not looking at her. "Why do you think I didn't complain, as I felt my health declining this past week? I could sense it. It would have been like going to sleep and never waking up."

"On the contrary. I'm sure a death due to such grotesque wounds would have been quite painful. I believe you owe me your gratitude."

He looked up from his position on the bed, and sneered.

"Are you really holding on to this foolish hope that you'll get me to beg on my knees for forgiveness for my role in your father's death?"

He immediately felt that the statement had come out rather nasty, but it was too late now. His sneer faded upon the realization.

Elizabeth looked affronted at the brazen comment, but her expression didn't change.

"It's not because of that. I simply had an urge to try to restore you to full health, is all. Apparently I succeeded… too well, because your old attitude has been restored as well."

Beckett felt a strange twinge, sensing that she was sincere in what she had said. _Could she really have been helping me just to get me well again?_ _Ah, most certainly this 'urge' is tied to her underlying motives of forcing an apology from me. But then… why did she prevent the situation in Jack's cabin? It would have been humiliating but wouldn't have killed me. It's as if she's… looking out for my well-being._

Utterly confused and even slightly fearful of what her intentions could be, he changed the subject to another just as important one.

"Why are you here? But more importantly, why am _I_ here?"

She thought for a second, and then answered.

"You are here because I figured that being dry and warm was better than lying on the floor of the damp brig, inching closer and closer to death. And I am here because this is my cabin."

He propped his head up on his elbows and looked at her, confusion written all over his face, but no anger.

"Ah. I see. But why, pray tell, would you take me to _your _cabin? Are there no other warm, dry places on the ship?"

She sighed, staring down at her hands, murmuring her reply.

"I couldn't have put you in one of the hammocks in the forecastle, not only because it wouldn't be comfortable at all, but also because the rest of the crew is down there, and who knows what they'd do to you. Besides that, there are only two other cabins, but those are occupied by Jack and Barbossa."

The confusion was still evident on his face.

"So I am to understand that you allowed me the use of your own bed, solely to improve my declining health?"

She saw that his expression was no longer angry, and rather embarrassed now, she silently nodded in response to his question.

"And why did _you_ not stay elsewhere?" he asked.

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she looked away from him, failing to formulate the words. She glanced at him for a brief moment, seeing that his look was still expectant, if not a bit curious. He hadn't told her his assumptions. _Why did she not stay with Sparrow? His cabin – his bed – is large enough for more than two, even. It does not make any sense._

Elizabeth felt like being honest with Beckett, because telling him that it was none of his business would only put him on the defensive again, his arrogance and contempt reemerging in the process.

"Well, I couldn't stay with the crew because one of them whom I had requested to leave the ship from that earlier incident in Jack's cabin remained, and now hates me more than ever and is probably seeking revenge for his embarrassment."

There was a pause, as Beckett thought quietly, his gaze focused on the headboard of the bed. Suddenly he turned to her.

"What about Jack?" he said, a knowing look on his face. Several beats went by, as she thought of how to describe the argument.

"We couldn't decide on the sleeping arrangements, and I was too exhausted to continue bickering with him."

"And so you came here," he said with a sigh as he stared straight ahead, deep in thought.

"Well, you had been unconscious all day, so it'd be like I was sleeping alone as usual."

Immediately upon finishing the statement, she clammed up, knowing that she had revealed too much. Beckett knew her to be married, and admitting that she usually slept alone was an easy issue for him to prod at. She had given him a target for his insults.

"So Master Turner is not on the ship," he said blandly. She took a deep breath and awaited his first dig, as he continued to speak. "I had figured as much."

He had avoided insulting her! It was a major relief, but there was still much more time for him with his newfound ammo to say things that would hurt her more personally.

"Well, now that you're back on your feet again, you should be returned to the brig."

He sighed exasperatingly.

"Is there any way that I can avoid going back there?" he asked her, gazing so piercingly at her that she was unnerved.

"I'd be much more uncomfortable sleeping next to a conscious man than next to an unconscious one. You were in a coma; there was nothing you could have done."

"—Except regain consciousness," was the reply. "You put an awful lot of trust in the idea that I would remain in a comatose state." He bit his bottom lip, stopping any further speech. He had wanted to mention that it was not very wise of her to do what she had done, but that would only get him returned to the brig that much quicker.

"I did," she replied. "But now you've recovered."

"Not completely. I still can't sleep on my back, or sit, for that matter." He looked slightly ashamed to be admitting such a thing.

"Well, I'm afraid that that's going to take quite a while. I was referring to the seeping of the wounds, and your state of consciousness."

"I would really prefer to stay here for the time being, if that's in any way plausible."

She was taken aback. _The nerve, of this ungrateful man, who not only murdered my father, but also almost murdered me and Will, to ask to overstay his welcome!_

"There's nothing that you could do to persuade me to allow you to stay any longer than you already have. I'm sorry."

He flashed her an expression hinting at mischievousness.

"But what if I fall back into sickness again?" he said innocently.

"I wouldn't push your luck twice if I were you," she replied, looking agitated.

It dawned on Beckett that Elizabeth really had done him a great service in bringing him into her cabin and restoring him to health. She hadn't even so much as mentioned the apology she desired from him. He simply had to improve his attitude about his new life, or he'd never be awarded any new privileges. He was reminded of his youth in the Royal Navy, working his way up in the rankings, and then after achieving a high status as an officer, switching over to an even higher rank in the East India Trading Company. It hadn't taken much longer after that point to ascend to the rank of lord. His rise through the ranks had depended entirely upon his attitude, and so he would have to go about things similarly towards his captors. _If I am to ever make it off this ship, I'll have to at least feign some sort of respect for these heathens. I still can't fathom why Elizabeth did me this service, as well as the rescue in the cabin, expecting nothing in return…._

He had been in a sort of reverie during this time. She could only glare at him, then back at the bottle of rum, and at the rotting food on the table. _At least there are no flies at sea_, she mused.

Suddenly Cutler spoke, making eye contact with her briefly and then dropping his eyes slightly. He sighed quietly.

"Thank you for restoring me to health," he murmured, his voice soft and low. "And for rescuing me in Sparrow's cabin."

She was a bit shocked at his admission, and her face showed it. He glanced back up at her, reading her reaction.

"I do appreciate your unselfish efforts. And I'm sorry for being ungrateful for your restoring my health; I just didn't completely understand why you'd do so."

The pleasant expression on her face faded into that of suspicion. "I know why you're telling me this."

He shook his head, turning onto his side so that his body was now facing her. "No. It's nothing to do with what you suspect. I'll return to the brig without further ado; I've inconvenienced you long enough. I just thought that you should know of my gratitude… while we're alone."

He finished his statement with an intense stare that seemed to peer directly into her soul, and a sort of half-smile that wasn't quite a smirk. Was this _Cutler Beckett_ treating her this way, looking at her this way?

She gave him a slightly confused half-smile, albeit genuine, and started to move off of the bed. This situation was weird. The bed suddenly felt ten times smaller. Why had he suddenly shifted gears? Well, he wasn't requesting anything in addition to his admission, so that was a positive thing.

Suddenly his nose wrinkled and he made a face of disgust.

"This wig's downright awful," he said, touching the offending hairpiece atop his head. He glanced at Elizabeth, who had no readable expression on her face.

He pulled the wig off his head, revealing a mess of curly light brown hair that tumbled down the back of his neck. Holding the wig in one hand, he scooted backwards out of bed and examined it more closely with a disgusted look on his face. Expertly he removed the ribbon from the wig and used it to tie his hair back in a low ponytail. He then tossed the wig onto the bedside table, next to the uneaten malodorous food.

"Ah," he said smilingly, upon finishing. "That's much better."

Elizabeth could only gape at him. This was the first time she had seen Beckett's real hair, and it rather surprised her. His real hair complimented his face much better than the pompous white wig, surprisingly rendering him rather ordinary. Now he looked so… normal, so commonplace, so… young… this look suited him much better. It was unnerving to say that mannerisms and speech aside, Beckett quite resembled a more youthful, more hygienic member of the _Pearl_'s crew.

"Well, I guess I'll be heading back to the brig then," he said, a sad smile on his face, as he turned to leave the room.

She couldn't believe the transformation she had witnessed. Not only had her mortal enemy Cutler Beckett thanked her for what she had done, but then he was going to return to the brig without a fight. It was unreal.

Elizabeth jerked her head at the statement, looking over at him still in a bit of awe. As he moved towards the door, she spoke.

"Beckett," she said, with urgency.

He turned and looked at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but no readable expression on his face.

"You can choose either to return to the brig now or spend the day working aboard the ship."

He perked up at her words.

"Really," he said, making it sound more like a statement than a question. He had expected this.

"Now that you're well, you can be of use on the ship."

He looked deep in thought, realizing that Jack, Barbossa, and especially Pintel, would be wandering around the ship.

"—But what about the rest of the crew?" he asked. "Won't they—"

Elizabeth was prepared for this.

"You'll work in a place where they don't often frequent, to reduce your chances of being recognized. You will be harder to recognize as it is, being as you look… rather different without your… without your wig," she said, glancing at the offending object on the table.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he replied surprisingly warmly. He clasped his hands behind his back quite regally, swallowing his pride in the process.

"Very well; where am I to work?"

* * *

Thanks to my Christmas reviewers! So very dedicated, hehe! Well, I hope everyone had a great Christmas! I must say, I liked writing this chapter. I hoped you liked reading it!


	27. Paper Walls

Warnings: none

* * *

Fortunately no one was around the outside of her cabin when Elizabeth and Beckett left Elizabeth's room and headed for the hold. More than likely the crew was in their quarters, filling up on salted meats and grog.

Elizabeth led Beckett down to the hold, the entire space cluttered with various supplies, absolutely nothing in order.

"We never had a chance to organize our newly acquired supplies," she told Beckett, who was busily looking around the messy area.

"I can see that," he said tiredly.

"Your task will be to organize the supplies, and to better secure the kegs of gunpowder towards the center of the ship," she said.

"Ah, so you've learned something from the battle that never was," he said to her, staring at her intensely. "The enormity of the _Endeavour_, yet the vulnerability of our gunpowder stocks caused by stupidity in storing them. I'm afraid that the _Pearl_, being a significantly smaller ship with even less safe havens than the doomed _Endeavour_, cannot safely stow—"

"Are you trying to say you won't be able to do the job?" she asked, interrupting him.

He glanced at her for a moment, and then allowed his eyes to be downcast.

"No. But I'll figure out something," he murmured, looking around himself.

"Remember, if you try anything dastardly, you're going down with the ship," she told him sternly.

He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"I do not plan on again experiencing what it's like to drown, thank you," he replied.

"Alright; it's settled then. I'll be back to check up on you in due time."

A nod of understanding from Beckett, and she left the hold.

* * *

_How could he have changed so much in so little time_, she mused, happy that he was now out of her cabin. _I can't assume anything yet, however, until I see the job he's doing in the hold. He might just be feigning all this to try something dreadful aboard the ship._

_Oh, God. Are there any loaded pistols in the hold?_

While she mulled over this question in her head, she was approached by Barbossa. She was not about to acknowledge him, but the way he stopped right in front of her, it was as if he was expecting her to say something.

"Hello, Captain Barbossa," she said, trying to go around him in the narrow hallway. He shifted over, blocking her way.

"What's wrong?" she asked him, confused as to the purpose of his blocking her way.

"The walls between cabins be as thin as paper," he said gruffly, "an' jus' as easy t'hear through. I know what ye stowed away in yer cabin las' night, an' I know tha' ye stayed there with 'im."

She crossed her arms, now on the defensive.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," she said, a frown on her face.

"Surely ye don' remember takin' up with Beckett in yer cabin? I do recall that room to be rather small, with no extra room on th' floor. Just what, pray tell, did ye two do in there? I didn' think his capture was about makin' him yer _personal_ slave, but I could be wrong…."

He finished his statement off with a rather suggestive look. Elizabeth immediately felt the blood rushing to her face.

"It was nothing like that!" she insisted. "He was unconscious and probably very near death in the brig, and so I brought him to a place where he would better recover."

"An' _why_ would ye do somethin' like that?" he asked her, showing his rotten teeth.

She had to think of a better reasoning than simply instinct, which was the honest truth. Something more along the lines of what a vengeful person would think. She'd keep whatever respect she had won from Barbossa if she stuck to her guns, of a want for revenge.

"That sort of death is like falling asleep and never awakening! I would hope that he would be just as aware of his impending doom as my father was."

Barbossa leaned in closer, the smell of grog and hardtack mingling in his breath.

"If ye feel so staunchly abou' yer vengeance on 'im, why would ye take 'im into yer own cabin, yer own _bed_?"

"I didn't wish for someone else to get to him first and do away with him in the night."

Hopefully he couldn't see right through her excuses. They did sound quite plausible.

"I be hearin' a great row this mornin' stemmin' from yer cabin. What ye be doin' to Beckett musta been awful painful."

She didn't say anything, for hope that he'd change the subject. When she looked back up at him, he looked expectant.

"I poured rum on his flogging wounds," she replied.

To her surprise, he began laughing heartily, holding his stomach as his tall form practically doubled over with laughter.

"My my, ye do know yer methods o' torture. I should be takin' notes," he said between guffaws. "Where be the captive now?"

"He's in the hold," she said with a slight smile. "I charged him with arranging the supplies."

Suddenly Barbossa looked panicked, his eyes growing wider by the second.

"What's wrong?"

"There be a whole stock o' bullets in th' hold," he said fearfully.

* * *

Ahh! Sorry for the shortness of this chapter! I thought the Barbossa fans might get a kick out of more Barbossa. Well, did you? I'm trying to give every POTC character a decently fleshed out role in this. hehehe


	28. Tiny Firearm

Warnings: none

* * *

"What about pistols?" Elizabeth asked him. "Are there any down there as well?"

Barbossa thought for a moment, looking slightly alarmed. After pondering briefly, he shook his head.

"Not a one of the crew would willin'ly put their pistol in the hold. They keep their weapons on 'em e'en as they sleep. Does Beckett have a pistol?"

Elizabeth hesitated before answering.

"I don't believe so, or else he probably would have used it on me this morning. The only place I am not sure about is in his boots, but he'd be walking oddly if there had been a pistol stashed in there."

"What about 'is outer garments? Where be they?"

"Ah! I had two of the crew grab them as they deposited Beckett in the brig after the flogging. I will have to ask them where they put the clothing."

"Well, when ye get back his clothin', check fer a gun on 'em. More'n likely a pistol'd be in 'is frockcoat pocket."

He gave her a slight nod of the head, and moved out of the way so that she could proceed to the deck.

The two men she had had perform the task were sitting with several members of the _Pearl_'s crew, lackadaisically playing a card game.

She tapped the two men on the shoulders, causing them to jump in unison. They turned around hesitantly.

"I told you to retrieve Beckett's clothing. Where did you put it?"

"Ah," Murtogg replied. "I be usin' it as a blanket fer the time bein'… matey."

She looked confused at his awkward dialogue.

"Can you retrieve it for me?"

Murtogg and Mullroy stood up simultaneously, each shoving the other to get to the clothes first, and thus prevent further conversation.

"Only one of you needs to get it. I didn't mean to disturb your card game."

Mullroy made a move forward, but Murtogg pulled him back. Elizabeth was becoming annoyed. She pointed at Murtogg.

"You—what's your name? You look familiar."

He looked taken aback, and his knees shook. He was going to be discovered! "Ggotrum," he said hastily, having flipped his name around to render what seemed to be a statement. He immediately felt stupid.

"No, I haven't got any rum at the moment," she replied. "There should be some in the—in Jack's cabin," she said, catching herself before saying 'hold'. No need to have Beckett found out already. "I know I've seen you before, but I can't remember your name. What did you say it was?"

"Smith," he spat.

"Smith."

"Aye, Smith be me name…. John… Smith." She looked confused. "Arrr," he said weakly.

"It doesn't ring a bell, but oh well. Mr. Smith, can you fetch me Beckett's clothing?"

"Aye aye… Mrs. Turner," he said, grasping desperately for words.

He sped off without another word, leaving Mullroy to stand in front of Elizabeth.

"Wait—you look familiar too," she said. "But I can't recall your name either."

"It's Hawkins," he said, already prepared for questions. "Jim Hawkins."

She looked at him with slight suspicion.

"Have you been aboard the _Pearl_ for long? I don't recall seeing you around."

He was slightly more quick-thinking than Murtogg, and responded as normally as possible.

"I joined the crew when the ship made port in Tortuga," he replied. "I haven't been here more than a week or so."

"Ah, that explains it then. I've probably seen you around Tortuga then."

"Aye, I frequent the tavern there," he said.

"That explains it."

Suddenly her attention was diverted to Gibbs at the helm, who had directed his attention to Jim Hawkins. Jack was wandering around the quarterdeck, staggering as if drunk.

She left the oddly familiar pirate behind, and ascended to the quarterdeck. Gibbs stopped looking at the man and turned to look at her.

"He seems familiar, don't he?" he asked her.

"Apparently he frequents Tortuga taverns, and joined our crew in Tortuga," she said. "Wait – don't you remember picking him up?"

"He was not on the longboat, that I do recall. It may be possible that he stowed away when no one be payin' any attention."

"That's totally possible," she said, "being as the _Black Pearl_ is now the flagship of the Pirate Armada against our enemies."

It was settled. Murtogg and Mullroy's presence on the ship had been reasonably explained.

Within minutes, Murtogg returned with Beckett's waistcoat and frockcoat, which were wrinkled but dry. He handed it to Elizabeth on the quarterdeck, bowed his head, and took off back down the companionway without another word, returning to Mullroy's side once again at the card table.

Immediately Elizabeth fished around in the pockets of Beckett's frockcoat, discovering a tiny pistol with an intricately carved ivory stock, and a barrel about the length of an index finger.

She placed the pistol in the pocket of her waistcoat, and continued to search the articles of clothing to no avail.

"Apparently this is the only weapon he's got," she said.

"A rather puny thing, eh?" Gibbs said, chuckling. Elizabeth emptied the gun of bullets, placing the bullets in one pocket of her waistcoat, and the pistol in another.

She was met with a strange look from Gibbs, and explained her actions.

"I'm going to stow away the pistol in my cabin, separately from the bullets. It's rather cute; wouldn't you agree?" She giggled at the thought of Lord Cutler Beckett's gun as being no more than cute. _Whatever the case, it's now mine, and a potential killing machine_. She laughed aloud at the thought.

Jack ignored her all the while she conversed with Gibbs. She found it rather odd, but was relieved that she would not have to revisit the argument from the night before.

_He can ignore me as long as he wishes_, she mused. _It certainly makes things easier on me._

She stuffed the clothing under a cannon on the quarterdeck, where they would stay well-hidden but accessible, just in case Beckett's newfound goodness remained.

* * *

A couple of eventless hours went by, as the _Pearl_ shortened the distance between herself and the island of Curaçao. They would be reaching the island by nightfall, and had already prepared the lanterns to be extinguished at precisely sunset, bathing the black ship and its black sails in complete darkness.

"An ingenious idea, says I, to use nightfall to its full advantage," Jack stated loudly, sitting on the steps of the companionway to the quarterdeck. Gibbs, standing above him near the helm, nodded wholeheartedly. Jack continued his speech.

"I wouldn't believe th' weather could be any more favourable, 'cept if there was one more aspect included in th' perception o' said weather."

Gibbs fell silent.

"Do you know wot that would be, Mr. Gibbs?" Jack said, turning back around to face the direction of his First Mate.

"I'm afeard I don't, cap'n," he gruffly replied.

"Why, that would be rum, o' course," Jack said. Gibbs made a move away from the helm to get the substance. Jack held him back with an upheld hand.

"Nah, you stay put, mate; I'll go down to th' hold an' get it," Jack replied, gesturing for Gibbs to stay where he was.

Elizabeth was leaning against the gunwale of the ship, using the telescope she had borrowed from Barbossa to identify a land mass far off in the distance.

She turned to see Jack descending below deck, and immediately thought of Beckett in the hold. _Jack'll shoot him first and ask questions later_, she mused, realizing no one save Barbossa knew about their busy captive.

"Where are you going, Jack?" she called out, following his steps. He was too far away to hear her.

_Oh, God. Expect the gunshot anytime now_, she told herself, wincing at the thought.

She caught Jack on the gun deck, as he picked up an empty bottle of rum from the dusty floor.

"What are you doing?" she asked the captain. He gave her a look of confusion.

"Who wants t' know?" he said, looking suspicious. "Is Barbossa plannin' 'is second mutiny already, an' is jus' itchin' for th' chance?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. "I'm just curious."

"I'm goin' down to th' hold," he said matter-of-factly. "It seems that we are currently out o' rum above deck."

"I'll fetch some for you," she offered, a little too excitedly.

The look he gave her reflected deeper suspicion.

"Why would you want t' do that, luv?" he asked her. "Ye've been avoidin' me all bloody day, an' now you're offerin' t' carry me rum?"

"Yes," she stated. She began stammering for words, realizing how weird and bad that had sounded. "I'm headed down there anyway." He still didn't look convinced, apparently expecting more of an explanation. She continued her rant. "To tell the truth, I felt guilty for ignoring you, being as you had only good intentions last night."

"Ah, right," he said, remembering the argument. "Wot ended up happenin' las' night? So where did you end up stayin'?"

She looked lost for words.

"Did you end up in the forecastle?" he said, searching her face.

"No," was the curt response.

"Th' gun deck? Th' main deck? At th' helm?"

"No."

"Th' hold?"

She shuddered at the thought of what was presently in the hold.

"No."

"The brig."

"No, I slept in my cabin, thank you very much," she finally stated. His face paled somewhat.

"—But wasn't Beckett—"

"Yes."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish's but no words came out. After several seconds of gaping at her in this way he finally found his voice.

"So you're tellin' me you slept wiv Beckett," he said, voice wavering only slightly.

"More or less, yes," she replied, crossing her arms.

The color returned to his face, which was soon flooded with redness.

"Why th' bloody hell would you do somethin' like that? He's our bloody captive, Lizzie! You're supposed t' be punishin' him, not coddlin' him!"

"For your information, he was unconscious, so he was not aware of my presence."

"Ha!" Jack snapped. "That's wot _you_ think. Many a time I recall feigning that sort o' state t' overstay my welcome in th' beds o' respectable women! An' they never suspected!"

"He was unconscious. In that state I daresay my greatest enemy is even more trustworthy than you are."

His face was shaking. "How dare you!" he squawked, his voice like that of an irritated rooster. "How dare you infringe upon th' honour o' a man who ne'er goes back on 'is word! An' then to sleep wiv th' enemy, yours as well as mine!"

"It's _your_ fault," she replied coolly. "If you had only agreed to allow me to sleep somewhere not directly next to you, I would have stayed in your cabin."

He seemed to calm a bit, and began muttering to himself.

"'Course, it's perfectly fine to sleep directly nex' to _Beckett_," he mumbled, not out of earshot of Elizabeth.

"He was practically dead!" she replied. "What sort of state is any more harmless than a comatose one?"

Jack sighed, the red leaving his face.

"Has he awoken?"

She sighed in turn.

"Yes."

"An' how'd that come about?"

"I spilled rum on his wounds."

Jack winced.

"Purposely?"

She didn't want to rehash this strange instinct she had felt to actually help her captive, and decided to fib to Jack as she had done to Barbossa earlier in the day.

"Yes."

Jack grinned slightly, shaking his finger at her.

"Jus' when I think I am learnin' your motives, you go an' do somethin' like that. An enigma, you are."

He began to move past her, but was stopped by her grabbing his shirt.

"I'll get it."

"'s alright, luv. Th' amount that I would like to fetch is much more than you could carry."

"I insist."

He gave her a look of confusion, and now curiosity, and tried once more to move past her. _She's bein' awfully insistent. Is there somethin' she's hidin'?_

"You don't want to go down there," she barked at him, pulling him back towards her.

"An' why not?" he demanded, yanking away from her grasp on his shirt.

She thought fast.

"Because it's absolutely a disaster down there," she said. "Everything is strewn everywhere. You'll be able to find naught but a barrel—"

"I'm well aware o' that," was the reply. She didn't have time to stop his advancement this time.

She scoffed indignantly as he pushed past her forcefully, descending the ladder to the hold. Upon setting foot in the hold behind Jack, her heart practically stopped.

* * *

Opinions? Comments? Suggestions? Viewpoints? Criticism? Questions?

I actually laughed aloud writing a section of this chapter. I guess it's pretty sad to laugh at one's own jokes… Ah well…


	29. Arrival

Warnings: none

* * *

The hold was immaculate. Every canister, crate, and keg was stacked up in neat rows along the hull. There was ample floor room where there had previously been none at all. Tucked under the ladder to the brig, the kegs of gunpowder were corralled with a length of rope, and surrounded on three sides by giant water barrels. The bottles of rum were positioned on a shelving unit, the dusty, empty bottles previously there having since been removed.

Several lanterns hung from the ceiling, seemingly shining more brightly than ever, illuminating the formerly dark, cluttered space. She strained her eyes to get a clearer look and noticed that even the glass panes of the lantern had been wiped clean.

Jack was shocked. He had just been in the hold three days ago, and it was a disaster then, as Elizabeth had said. Who had taken the initiative to organize it?

Elizabeth held her breath as she scanned the hold. No sign of Beckett anywhere. Surely he hadn't left… but then, where could he be hiding?

The dreadlocked man turned to face her, confusion written all over his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Wot did you—"

She saw movement behind Jack, as Beckett appeared behind a stack of crates, seemingly having been bent over before. How could he not have heard them arrive, and stayed hidden for his own sake? Well, maybe he had thought it was Elizabeth arriving alone. Her look of surprise alerted Jack, for he spun around to face the direction immediately. Within moments his gun was aimed at Beckett, who feigned disinterest, casually _approaching_ the pair. Jack cocked the weapon, not saying a word, just narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Beckett. It was Beckett who spoke first, slapping his hands together to brush off what dust and dirt had accumulated on them.

"So, was the job done to your liking?" he said, looking to Elizabeth, who was now standing beside Jack. Jack was rendered confused, and glanced over at Elizabeth, his aiming hand wavering from its position.

"Yes," she said. "I daresay I am shocked."

Jack looked over at her again, utterly lost.

"Are you tellin' me you let him wander th' ship?"

She shook her head. "He's been down here all day. I don't see why everyone on the ship shouldn't make themselves of use."

Beckett continued to approach the pair, and Jack's gun returned to a position roughly aimed at Beckett's chest.

"But wot if he poisoned the rum?" Jack murmured nervously to Elizabeth. Beckett overheard him.

"Rum is a poison, in and of itself," Beckett commented haughtily. "You have nothing of any real value down here, save for your gunpowder, which is in alarmingly short stock." He stood face-to-face with Jack. "And you've not a single drop of brandy."

Jack looked offended.

"Only men who cannot hold their drink would say such a thing about rum," he commented, his head held high, as he lowered his gun to his side. Beckett rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Jack then noticed Beckett's lack of powdered wig.

"An' wot became o' your—" he touched his own braided hair for emphasis.

"It was no longer of use," was Beckett's simple reply. He had expected a comment sooner or later from Jack.

Elizabeth moved past the two men, over to the rum now shelved neatly. She pulled out three bottles full of the substance and walked back over to Jack, as he continued to eye up Beckett's new look.

She thrust the bottles at Jack and turned again to face Beckett.

"So I take it that you've finished?" she asked him.

"All that is left is the disposal of some useless cargo," he said, indicating a crate full of odds and ends. Jack strode over to it, squatting down beside the crate as he tucked his gun back in the holster.

He held up a shiny, odd-shaped object, looking concerned. "Oh, this looks like my—" he looked at the item, trying to remember. "—it's my… " Another long pause, as he stared at it, transfixed. "Oh, bugger," he scoffed, after failing to identify the item. He threw the item back in the crate.

Several sand-filled bottles had been placed in the crate, as well as some sea items such as stony crab carapaces, rotten bits of Kraken flesh, turtle shells, and fish spines. Jack unfortunately was not able to redeem any of the items that Beckett found expendable, much to his own dismay.

Elizabeth spoke to Beckett quietly while Jack dug through the crate.

"I will fetch you some food and drink, because you must be quite hungry by this point," she said. "You've quite surprised me, I must say."

"I do suppose time passes more quickly when one's mind is occupied," he said, a little smirk on his face. "However, I fail to surmise how this ship can operate with any efficiency whatsoever, what with the utter chaos of the hold."

"Well, that's not so much of a problem anymore," she replied, looking about the neat hold.

Jack returned to her side.

"Now that you're finished, I think it's high time you return to the brig," he said to Beckett. He looked over at Elizabeth. "That is, unless Lizzie has other plans." The look he flashed her was suggestive. She scowled at him in return, disconcerted by his remark.

"Jack's right," she said, turning to Beckett again. "I'll bring you your dinner there," she continued.

Beckett let out a sigh of exasperation, knowing he wasn't going to win this one. He rolled his eyes.

"God, I hate that bloody place," he muttered to no one in particular. It would still be a while until he'd be given more priveliges.

Jack stepped out of Beckett's way to the ladder, putting his hand on his pistol.

"After you," he said, bowing mockingly for the disgraced lord to pass. Jack briefly considered tripping his enemy, but decided against it just in time.

Beckett flashed him a look of contempt, and headed up the ladder, Jack and Elizabeth following closely behind.

Once the group had reached the brig, Jack opened the cell door and Beckett stepped in without a fight, but rather with head held proudly. His concentrations were diverted elsewhere as Jack closed the door.

"I'm rather impressed at this new side o' you," Jack told the captive. "Obedient, useful… all very positive qualities indeed." His tone could not have been more degrading.

Using all the willpower he had, Beckett bit his tongue. How he would love to just lay into his enemy, to call him all the nastiest and most spiteful names! But he would have to earn his right for privileges, and that would not come by being difficult. Besides, Elizabeth was watching.

Jack pulled Elizabeth away from the grating, out of earshot of Beckett.

"I guess one night o' sleepin' wiv you really changes a man for th' better," he told her, flashing her a sly grin. "An' I have plenty o' room for improvement."

She slapped his arm playfully.

"It's nothing like that," she said. "I think that he's finally realizing how he should act to win our favour."

"Wotever ye say, luv." Jack winked at her and headed back up the ladder. She counted to ten silently in her head and followed him in order to get some food for Beckett.

* * *

Several minutes later Elizabeth was back in the brig with a large amount of salted pork, an orange, and a mug of water.

He approached the grating, his face expressionless, as she came to the cell with the food. As she handed him each food item through the grating, she touched the tip of his fingers with her own. It was unnerving to practically be shaking the hand of this hated man.

After handing him the food, she turned around without a word, and put her hand onto the railing of the ladder. _He's probably going to start arguing about the cabin and the whole living arrangement thing as soon as I start to ascend the stairs_, she mused. _I may as well try to leave before he says anything about that._

She took the first step up, more hesitantly than she had intended to, and heard an outtake of breath coming from behind her indicative of Beckett preparing to speak. _Instantly she steeled herself for the deluge of questions… or perhaps, a snide comment._

"Thank you."

She froze for a split second, and then craned her neck to look back at Beckett, who was standing by the grating, food and drink in hand, giving her a sort of soft smile. _Did he actually thank me just now? And is he smiling?_

"You're welcome," she replied curtly, her own voice sounding foreign to her. She turned back to face the stairs and hastily left the brig without another word.

* * *

Upon reaching the main deck she saw Barbossa leaning against the gunwale, peering at the landmass they were approaching. The orangey sun was low in the sky, already sinking below the horizon of the water. They would be reaching Curaçao very soon. Now she understood why Jack wanted Beckett back in the brig.

She stood next to Barbossa, trying to pick out details of the landmass. Curaçao had a good dotting of green and brown, that she could see. It seemed to be encased in a kind of foggy mist that rendered it quite fuzzy.

"I take it the pris'ner didn' cause any trouble in th' hold," Barbossa said to her, still looking through the telescope.

"Quite the contrary. The hold has never been neater," she said.

"That be makin' quite a statement," he replied. "Fer o'er a decade, when I be the cap'n o' the _Pearl_, 'twas only items o' weaponry in th' hold."

She corrected her statement.

"Well, it's as neat as _I've_ ever seen it."

"Aye, mos' likely so. I'll hafta take a look sometime. I'd have t' see it with me own eyes t' believe that arrogant cur be doin' somethin' good. Where be Beckett now?"

"He's back in the brig."

"Good, 'cause we're makin' port at dark." He pointed at the steadily sinking sun. "Which shan't be long now."

"I've never been here before," she told him.

"Aye, ye'll be surprised at th' sheer size o' it. A pirate paradise, it be."

"Do you think the East India Trading Company will be waiting for us there?" she asked him, wondering how he'd respond.

"Aye, spies'll be crawlin' all o'er the place," he said, nodding. "But we be usin' the _Pearl_'s colour to our advantage at night, so's to alert less o' 'em."

"Who all's going ashore this time?" she said expectantly. She was hoping that she could get her fill of this new place.

"Me, Jack, couple o' the crew t' carry the supplies, an' I think ye as well. Jack also specifically requested Masters Pintel an' Ragetti be goin' ashore."

"And what of Mr. Gibbs?" she asked.

"He be stayin' aboar' the _Pearl_ this time."

"I see." So it would be Jack that would be showing her around. She regretted having to miss Gibbs' snippets of adventures from his seasoned travels around the world, but at least she would be setting foot on land again.

* * *

At nightfall the _Black Pearl_ made berth in Curaçao, her lanterns all extinguished, rendering her as dark as the night itself. Without an anchor, staying put for extended periods of time would be more difficult, but that would be solved for the time being by fastening the mooring line to the dock.

Jack had removed his tri-cornered hat so as to arouse less suspicion. Elizabeth could only laugh at the thought that Jack expected not to make a spectacle of himself simply because he was not wearing his hat.

Dozens upon dozens of ships were docked in the port, their masts like a forest of naked trees along the seashore. The din of hagglers and merchants could be heard as Elizabeth stepped onto the dock, aided by Jack, who had been the first to step from the ship. Barbossa, Pintel, Ragetti, Cotton, Murtogg, Mullroy, and Marty followed closely behind, first ensuring that the ship was moored to the dock properly.

Barbossa looked at Jack. "I'll be surveyin' the ships o' th' port fer a new anchor, as well as recruitin' some new crewmates. What o' ye two?"

"Well, Mrs. Turner an' I will be on th' search for more diverse food supplies. You know, fruit, corn, fresh meat an' fish, an' maybe e'en _sea turtle_."

Ragetti's jaw dropped, the unfortunate fate of his pet Torty finally evident to him.

Jack turned to the group. "Pintel, you an' Ragetti fetch us some more cannonballs an' gunpowder. An' rum." He turned to Murtogg and Mullroy, not remembering their names. "You two… people… pick up cannonballs as well. Rather heavy they are for two men alone. Also rum. An' fetch a good length o' rope."

Both men looked at each other nervously and gulped at the prospect that the rope was for their necks. However, Jack didn't give any indication of this being the case. Relieved, the two new pirates saluted him with a crisp "Aye aye, Cap'n." Jack looked flattered and taken aback but continued with his task list.

"Cotton, ye'll be in charge o' gettin' some dark – black, if ye will – cloth for th' sails. An' Marty… grab us some new clothin', as well as some rum."

Elizabeth flashed Jack a dark look. He flashed her a toothy smile before replying.

"One can ne'er have enough o' that, luv."

* * *

Thanks to my reviewers! Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter! Any questions, opinions, comments, suggestions?


	30. A Task At Hand

Warnings: none

* * *

Beckett finished up his meal of saltpork and the orange, and completely emptied the mug of water before he had even thought about how he'd feel when the dehydrating properties of the salted meat would commence in his mouth.

He stood while eating, for sitting or even trying to lower himself onto that particular region of his body was to say the least, excruciating. It had seemed that Elizabeth had been quite sympathetic of his situation, even hesitating to send him back to the brig! Already he was winning her favour, only at the expense of a day's work and a few difficultly-uttered words of gratitude.

Yet something was true about the words of gratitude, as hard as it was for him to thank his captor, and how much harder it was to admit the truth. She had certainly prevented a very ugly act from being committed upon his person in Jack's cabin, for no benefit of her own, and then when he had fallen alarmingly ill from the infection that racked his body, she somehow was able to restore his health in the course of a mere twenty-four to forty-eight hours. There was no advantage for her to prevent that which would have been utter humiliation for him in the situation with the Singaporean pirates, just a major advancement in what he saw as her ultimate goal: to break him.

In all his years Beckett had never witnessed a selfless act, solely to aid _him_. As he had entered the higher ranks of the Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company, the tasks that had been performed for his benefit by his inferiors had been pursued solely by subordinates who sought advancement. Those who ranked above him in those years largely ignored him, most likely fearing that he'd steal their position from them. Which he did.

_Well, they had been correct in their assumptions to fear me_, he mused, an impish grin on his face. The grin faded as he glanced around the darkness of the brig, realizing it was impossible to see. _Now they'd only scorn me… seeing as I'm now obeying orders from bloody heathen pirates…._

He moved slowly towards the grating at the front of his cell, his arms outstretched in front of him to prevent smacking his face off obstacles. It was pitch black.

Soon his fingertips grazed the rough grating. He positioned his hands at about waist-height and grasped the grating, then sank to his knees, using his grip to steady his slow descent to the floor.

_The ship is oddly quiet tonight_, he mused, hearing not a sound around him. _I wonder what's going on._ His eyes were unable to make out anything in the pitch black of the ship, with not even a speck of light coming from the grating of the brig's ceiling.

Beckett remained on his knees at the front of the cell, his hands clinging half-heartedly to the grating in front of him. He let his forehead rest against the grating.

_Thank goodness for the darkness. I imagine I would look quite defeated if I should be seen now. No reason to get their hopes up— too soon…. _

* * *

Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Jack had parted ways with the remainder of the disembarked party, and had made their way into the hub of activity. Elizabeth pulled a cloak over her head to avoid recognition, but Jack only laughed in reply.

"Lizzie, there's no need," he said. "Mos' everyone here is an outlaw, a pirate, or both. They're all lookin' to lay low. Jus' relax an' enjoy."

The pair walked down bustling streets, with vendors lined up on either side of a narrow middle pathway hawking their wares, whether they were jewels, foods, livestock, ammunition, weaponry, or some mixture. Gas lamps lined the streets, their globes emitting a decent supply of light to the vendors and passersby. Elizabeth couldn't believe how loud this place was, a constant buzzing of conversations in all different languages. Exotic animals like llamas, emus, and jaguars were tied to short stakes or housed in rickety cages near the passersby, and would react with screams, shrieks, or snarls when someone came too close. Thick smoke filled the air, emanating from various grills and spits that were roasting delightful-smelling meats.

Jack and Elizabeth passed by dozens of fruit stands piled high with oranges, bananas, cantaloupe, pineapple, watermelon, and strawberries. Occasionally she'd hear the enraged yells of vendors, as petty thieves would take off with a pocket full of their wares. Her mouth watered at the smell of all the fresh food.

Behind the vendors were taverns filled to the brims with rowdy men. More than once she had to move out of the way to avoid a patron being tossed out of a tavern. She was unprepared to react when several drunken men had grabbed at her cloak, pulling the fabric from her face and making lewd comments. Jack had simply grabbed her arm in response, pulling her steadily through the crowd.

"It seems like you're on a mission," she yelled to her pirate guide over the loudness of their surroundings.

"I know th' best food vendor here… well, th' cheapest, at least, wiv edible food," he yelled back in kind. "He's on the end o' this street."

Some scantily-clothed men were roasting a large pig on a spit, and Jack involuntarily squirmed. He had almost been offered up on something very much like that by the Pelegosto cannibals. Speaking of which, one of the men looked eerily familiar to him…

"Lizzie, speed up some, tout de suite, savvy?" he said as quietly as possible, pulling her arm with more urgency. She quickened her footsteps to catch up with the pirate captain.

"What was that all about?" she said, glancing at the fearsome-looking half-naked men by the spit. He put a finger to his lips.

"It'd be best to not make eye contact wiv 'em," he replied, wriggling his index finger at her. "I'll explain later."

Once they had gotten sufficiently far enough away from the pig-roasters, Jack seemed more at ease, and released his hold on Elizabeth's arm.

Elizabeth could only continue to gape at the overload of sights, sounds, and smells of the busy island. When she fell behind to stare a bit longer at the array of shrieking spider monkeys a group of dark-skinned peddlers offered her with great insistence.

"No thank you," she insisted, still able to smile even though she was beginning to be nervous, scanning about herself quickly for sign of her tour guide. Jack was nowhere in sight.

* * *

No longer directly leading Elizabeth by the arm, Jack took an extra couple of seconds glimpsing into the most crowded of the taverns, so very tempted to swipe a nice fresh bottle of rum.

It was then he saw the poster tacked up on a wooden post.

The crudely sketched drawing to represent the outlaw was barely recognizable at best, but it was the boldly written words that had caught his attention.

CUTLER BECKETT

Wanted Dead or Alive

Reward: £10,000

He glanced about quickly, seeing no one paying him any heed. Noticing how individuals literally disappeared in the din of the crowd, he hastily ripped the sign down, rolled it up carefully, and tucked it into his belt.

* * *

A low-ranking officer of the Royal Navy, William Blackwell, had seen some random pirate pull the poster from the pole and take it down, but hadn't seen the pirate's face. He pulled his cohort, Thomas Snow, another member of the Royal Navy, to his side and pointed out the now missing poster.

"Where'd it go? It was just there!" Snow exclaimed.

"Some pirate-type tore the bloody thing down," Blackwell replied.

"So the rumours are true, that Beckett was working for the pirates."

"Certainly seems so. Why else would a pirate 'ave wasted the time an' effort needed to remove the poster from the public eye?"

"Bloody traitor," Snow murmured in reference to the disgraced lord.

"'e's a cowardly turncoat, is wot 'e is. 'eard that he let 'is ship get blown to kingdom come without announcing one command."

"I've heard that as well, but Lieutenant Groves tends to think he froze up is all."

Blackwell shook his head in response, waving a hand at his coworker. "Beckett's been an officer as long as I can remember. 'e's sunk hundreds of pirate ships in 'is lengthy career. It doesn't make any sense wotsoever to go down without a fight."

"What did they say his last words were, again? I recall his last statement being rather… strange, to say the least."

"Something about it just bein' good business, I think. Obviously 'e made 'is deal with the pirates – Captain Jack Sparrow in particular – to defeat 'im outright, an' was probably rendered a bit shocked by 'ow ruthless the attack on 'is ship ended up bein'. More than likely 'e had a few friends killed by the attack, an' was reconsidering the previous arrangement. I think that's why 'e said wot 'e said."

"Well, reconsidering or no, he's a bloody scoundrel, and I rather think Beckett never had any real friends."

"I happen to believe Mercer alone was 'is confidant an' true friend, but that's about it. A rather sad life Beckett led. A lonely existence. No heirs to 'is fortune either."

"Why do they think he's still alive, being as the _Endeavour_ was obliterated?"

"You said it yourself; there were those tha' lived to tell the tale, Groves bein' one o' the few."

"—But that doesn't necessarily mean—"

"Apparently, when the survivors were collected from the wreckage, there was no sign o' Beckett's body."

"His body could very well have sunk to the depths."

"That may well be, but the bodies o' the deceased found floatin' had all been on the upper deck. An' I distinctly remember 'earing that Beckett was on the poop deck when las' they saw 'im."

Suddenly, Snow changed the subject.

"Should we have followed the man that stole the poster?"

Blackwell shook his head. "I didn' e'en catch a glimpse of 'im. 'e's wearin' a red bandanna an' has quite a head o' hair, but they all seem to have some variation o' that. We prob'ly won't be seein' 'im again, but at least we know for sure o' Beckett's allegiance."

"Beckett must still be alive, for one of his comrades to be taking care of his bad publicity."

The officer turned to his coworker.

"O' that I 'ave no doubt. We _will_ find 'im an' give 'im wot 'e deserves."

Snow chuckled, looking over at his friend amusedly.

"A short drop and a sudden stop!"

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews for last chapter, everyone! You all are great! I hope my added OCs in this chapter weren't too off-the-wall. I just didn't want to keep saying 'Royal Navy officer' and 'other officer' to refer to them, hehe. There's more Jack & Lizzie running about in Port Royal in the next chapter, to divulge some…


	31. Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves

Warnings: none

* * *

Jack had been correct about blending into the crowd, but he hadn't realized that one more moment's hesitation could have cost him dearly.

He patted the rolled-up poster at his waist and thought about the types of food Elizabeth would be choosing from the vendor. This vendor in particular also happened to sell sea turtle. He would make a point of buying some more, if only to lure Elizabeth back into his cabin. Quickly he spun round, about to tell her how much longer it would be.

"We're almos'—"

Elizabeth was gone.

"Bugger." He scratched his head as he stood on tiptoes, no sign of her anywhere. _When did she disappear? I could have sworn she was behind me jus' seconds ago…._

He started to walk back from where he came, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of his companion. _It figures she has to be wearing that stupid cloak; I won't be able to spot her as easily now._

"Lizzie!" he called into the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth. He saw a rather pretty-faced whore apparently named Lizzie come to a stop close by, and fighting the urge to strike up a conversation with the scantily-clad beauty, continued backtracking.

_Where could she possibly have gone? I hope I don't have to walk past the pig-spit again._ Once he was out of earshot of the other Lizzie, he called for Elizabeth again.

_I recall mentionin' where the vendor was goin' to be found, so she's probably goin' to walk toward me soon._ He leaned against the familiar pole where he had taken Beckett's poster.

One of the taverns in the vicinity had recovered after a pretty gruesome earlier brawl and had reopened its doors to admit a deluge of the immediate crowd, clearing the area around Jack. He smiled, now able to see a rather good distance around him, which would make it much easier to identify Elizabeth.

Of course, this also gave an unrestricted view of the poster thief to the two officers of the Royal Navy, who were unrecognizable as such because their clothing was reminiscent of street vendors.

Blackwell nudged Snow as they leaned in a darkened alley between taverns, indicating the pirate thief with a subtle movement of the head.

"I can't believe it. Our poster thief returns," he murmured quietly.

"By God, I can even see the poster on him!" Snow exclaimed. Blackwell elbowed him in the ribs, shushing him quickly. He unsheathed a sword, receiving a quizzical look from Snow.

"Wot is it, Snow?" he asked.

"Why not your pistol?"

"Well, it's 'cause I want to question the thief 'bout Beckett's whereabouts, not kill 'im outright. Use the little fish to catch the big fish—well, _formerly_ big fish – as it were."

"Good thinking."

* * *

Little did they know that Jack was himself a massively big fish, and that shooting him outright would gain them substantial reward in and of itself. However, any poster of Jack that had ever existed had been yanked down by any self-respecting pirate, for Jack had been famous amongst his pirate peers for more than a decade… and now he was their hero for defeating the enemy one-on-one. For this reason, the East India Trading Company and Royal Navy didn't even consider wasting the paper to make a poster of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. More than likely, the mere sight of it would serve as a recruiting device for new pirates.

As Jack leaned against the pole, he could see two men attempting to approach him as casually as possible, which sent up red flags. He flashed a smile at Blackwell and Snow and took off in the direction of the pig-spit and the _Black Pearl_ and hopefully Elizabeth as well, as they brandished their weapons and took chase.

The people and vendors along the street became a blur of color and noise as Jack pushed his way through the crowds, all the while keeping an eye out for Elizabeth's black cloak. He looked behind him briefly to see that Blackwell and Snow were being thwarted by the oncoming crowd, unaided by the presence of the swords in their hands.

He hated to be fleeing from two stupid-looking members of whatever enemy group they were part of, but Jack needed to get to Elizabeth before something happened to her. If he had simply shot the two men, there would have been an awful fracas and he wouldn't have been able to escape quickly from the subsequent formation of a curious crowd.

"Lizzie!"

He spotted her, wandering aimlessly in a small square of meat-grilling Asians. She spun round and he felt a great relief wash over him. Before she could say anything, however, he had grabbed her by the arm and was now pulling her along with him.

"What's going on, Jack?" she asked him, utterly perturbed at this sudden urgency in the way he was gripping her arm. "You're holding my arm awfully tight. I thought the vendor was that way—"

"No time to explain. We got to get out o' here," he said, dead serious.

She looked about as she was being jerked forward, bumping into countless people moving in the opposite direction. More than once she'd hear curses coming from the victims of her blasting into them, and would roll her eyes at the impertinence of it all.

"What about Barbossa, and Cotton and Marty?" she asked Jack, of the other disembarked crewmates she had grown most fond of. She could care less about the fate of Pintel and Ragetti, and had currently forgotten the names of the newest members of the _Pearl_'s crew.

"Hang 'em," he replied. He saw the hurt look that appeared on her face in response.

"Well, let's jus' hope that they're already on th' _Pearl_."

They traversed too close to the cage of a jaguar and it roared at them, clawing its cage with its massive paw, as Elizabeth pulled away. Smoke from the grills was embedded in her eyeballs and was drying them out enough so that every gas lamp now looked like floating orbs emitting fuzzy light all around. The speed at which they were moving was starting to scare her. She could see with limited peripheral vision that two figures were moving at the same breakneck speed some distance behind them.

"Who's following us, Jack?"

"No idea," was the curt reply.

"Then why do you think they intend to do you harm?"

"They don' look happy, do they?"

She glanced behind her, noticing the grimaces on the faces of the two men.

"Well, maybe they're upset because you're avoiding them."

Jack only let out a single laugh. "Somehow I doubt that is th' only reason."

She glanced once more, almost bashing head-on into a mustached man with a large feathered hat atop his head. As she looked back, she saw the glint of metal in one of the men's hand's and understood.

"Excusez-moi!"

The near run-in with the Frenchman jolted her back to reality, and she kept a steady pace with Jack, so much that it seemed he no longer had to pull her along.

Once Jack and Elizabeth had increased the distance between themselves and the pursuers, one of the pursuers yelled "Stop, thief!" pointing towards Jack. They were beginning to run out of ideas, and needed the aid of someone else to slow down the dodgy pirate they were chasing.

Elizabeth looked over at Jack.

"Ah, so you stole something," she said to him matter-of-factly.

"No."

"Then why would they be saying—"

He refrained from making eye contact with her.

"No idea."

She eyed her companion, noticing the roll of paper tucked into his belt.

"Then what's that under your belt," she said, barely squeezing past a rather large tavern wench carrying several mugs of beer.

He suddenly remembered the poster, and laughed.

"Jus' wait 'til you get a load out o' this," he said, patting the poster with his free hand. "I'd like to divulge more, but for now, we gotta get a move-on, savvy?"

"Stop! Thief!" the pursuers yelled again. This time Jack and Elizabeth's path was blocked by a gypsy – and her massive pet bear, attached to her wrist with a sparkling leash. Obviously the bear had been trained as a dancing bear and even had its own little jingly outfit – but at the moment it was standing on its hind legs and bearing its teeth, not about to let Jack and Elizabeth pass.

* * *

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Viewpoints? I do enjoy feedback of all forms.


	32. Getting Along Swimmingly

Warnings: none

* * *

Jack glanced behind him at the advancing pursuers, then back at the bear. He pulled out his pistol, holding it at his side. He then looked to each side. To his left was a crowded tavern, the patrons largely blocking the door. _Bugger_. To his right were two taverns, betwixt which a very narrow alley lead into darkness. It could be a dead end.

He looked over at Elizabeth, who caught his eye.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him quietly. The gypsy in front of them apparently didn't hear her.

"I was thinkin' to shoot th' bear."

This was not well-received by Elizabeth.

"That bear has done nothing wrong to you, and the gypsy's only doing—"

"Move outta my way or th' bear gets it!" Jack yelled at the gypsy, pointing his pistol at the furry carnivore. Elizabeth scoffed and crossed her arms.

To Jack's surprise, not only did the gypsy not comply with his order, but she also set the bear after him with some sort of snorting signal.

In response, Jack pulled the trigger – but nothing happened. The pistol simply clicked.

"Bugger bugger bugger," he muttered, glancing around himself for the next plan. The pursuers were only a few paces behind him, and with the bear in front of him, he and Elizabeth were sandwiched.

Suddenly he grabbed Elizabeth's arm and yanked her to the right, pulling her behind him as they darted into the dark alleyway.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" she shrieked at him, hearing the bears' claws swipe against the brick of the alleyway entrance.

"All that matters is that it's where th' bear cannot go," he replied, slowing down a bit.

* * *

Blackwell and Snow reached the alley, trying to squeeze their bodies into the narrow space. Snow was barely able to fit sideways in the alley, but Blackwell was simply too wide.

"_Now_ what do we do?" Snow said.

"Maybe we can cut 'em off," was the reply from Blackwell. "I do believe that this alley ends at the harbour. You follow 'em this way. I'll cut 'em off on the docks."

The pursuers didn't even take heed of the gypsy, who had risked the life of her pet to help them. She restored her bear to calmness and went back to her booth, whispering a curse on the whole lot of them.

Jack and Elizabeth continued walking through the nearly pitch-black alley, hearing the distant sound of scratching against bricks indicative of someone moving rather slowly behind them.

"Hopefully this comes out somewhere near th' _Pearl_," Jack said, advancing through the blackness.

"But what if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't, I may well have to shoot one of our pursuers."

"Well, what if the other one shoots _us_?"

"We die." His response was matter-of-fact, yet oddly cheery.

"I fail to see the humour in that," she replied, having noticed the jovial delivery of his statement.

"That's 'cause there isn't any. Simple as that. We die. I jus' hope that they throw at leas' _your_ body in th' harbour, so perhaps your soul'll be _ferried_ to th' nex' worl'."

She pinched his arm rather forcefully, eliciting a sound of pain from Jack.

"I'm jus' tellin' you th' facts, Lizzie. We could very well die in th' nex' few moments."

"Shut it!" she exclaimed, scowling at the pirate.

"Wait! I've another idea!" Jack said, throwing his hands in the air. "If they _do_ throw you in th' harbour, make an attempt to stay alive as long as possible. Who knows; maybe you can join th' crew o' th' _Flying Dutchman_."

_Actually_, she thought, _that's not such a bad idea. Imagine, joining Will's crew for eternity! But I'd have to be dying first, and I don't even want to think about that. And what would happen to Will's heart? He gave it to me to protect. _

Finally the pair reached the harbour, seeing the _Pearl_ floating in the far corner of the harbour where she couldn't be spotted as easily. Apparently Blackwell hadn't arrived yet to head them off.

Remaining cautious, Jack pulled Elizabeth along as they darted behind a stack of crates being unloaded by a ship reminiscent of the _Interceptor_. Which just so happened to be a ship of the Royal Navy. Redcoats armed with bayonet-tipped rifles filed off the ship as if knowing of the presence of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow and his hearty crew.

"We gotta get away from here," he murmured to Elizabeth as she narrowly avoided being spotted by a redcoat.

"I agree," she replied, face flushing with anxiety. Pretty soon the pursuer behind them in the alley would be emerging and would see them hiding behind the crates.

Jack scanned the harbour. The docks were naked of all material and well-lit by overhead gas lamps. There'd be no way they would be able to get back to the ship without being spotted. It was then he looked at the dark water off of the dock. Their pursuer from the alley had spotted them and was now heading towards them at full speed.

Elizabeth flashed him a look of sheer panic, to which he responded with a smile of confidence.

"What is it? Have you thought of something?" she whispered.

"I recall rescuin' you once before, so I'm gonna ask firs' – can you swim?"

She gave him a sneer.

"Of course I can swim. The only reason I needed to be rescued before was that I had fainted."

"Oh, an' that's _so_ much better to admit," he responded.

"It's the truth."

"So… are you ready?"

"Wait… we're going now?"

He gestured at the redcoats, and at Snow, who now had to move out of the redcoats' way, attempting to alert them to Jack's presence. "Have we any other choice?"

"I guess not."

"On the count of three… two… one. Go!"

Jack and Elizabeth leapt into the water, grasping the arm of the other underwater. They surfaced underneath the dock, keeping their breathing rate steady and slow so as to stay as silent as possible.

The underside of the dock was green with algae and covered with barnacles, rendering the wood impossible to hang onto; the steep slope of slimy rocks beneath the water prevented them from getting their footing. Hence, they had to tread water to stay afloat.

"Wot was that?" they heard a redcoat say. "Sounded like a bloody sea lion slidin' into th' water!"

"I think there must've been someone by these crates," another replied. "Don' you think we would have noticed a sea lion sittin' 'ere?" Jack and Elizabeth then heard the voice of Snow amidst the men.

"No, it's actually a runaway thief you saw! A pirate thief at that! And his female companion!"

"That's a commonality of this harbour, I'm afraid," a redcoat replied.

"No! He stole somethin' very important!"

The redcoats sought to tune him out. Vendors came up to the redcoats all the time for this sort of blather. 'He stole an apple,' one might say, or 'she pocketed a very fine piece of my jewelry.' Later on of course it would be revealed that the jewelry itself had been stolen by the vendor. It was customary to slough off civilians. However, one redcoat decided to humour the man, being as he seemed sincere enough.

"An' what did this 'pirate thief' steal?"

"A wanted poster."

Jack suddenly groaned, having previously forgotten about the now poster at his belt, now underwater. Elizabeth could only scoff, disgusted at all the ado over something as inconsequential as a wanted poster.

Blackwell soon raced over, meeting up with Snow and the redcoats.

"I cannot believe 'ow long it takes to go aroun'," he said, panting. "Where'd 'e go?" he asked his partner.

"The both of 'em dove into the water," Snow replied.

"Why aren't you lookin' for 'em then?"

"Well, they haven't surfaced anywhere I can see as of yet."

"Have you checked under the docks?"

Elizabeth held her breath. Jack grabbed her arm, and kicked his legs under the water, moving the two of them away from under the group of men.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out and splinters of wood launched into the water as Blackwell shot his pistol down through the dock directly below the group. Just where Jack and Elizabeth had been. Elizabeth jumped, Jack clamping a hand over her mouth just as she was about to utter a sound of surprise.

Immediately he removed his hand, and she flashed him a look of fear. It was not customary for her to be fearful, so he suddenly began to worry more. They needed to put as much distance between themselves and the redcoats and pursuers as quickly as possible.

Jack moved in close to Elizabeth and cupped his hands around her ear, speaking very quietly to her.

"We're gonna need t' swim some o' th' distance underwater so's they can't hear us breathe. However, you're welcome t' surface whene'er you see fit, 'cause you should not be gaspin' for air."

She wasn't able to see Jack's face but she could feel his breath lightly on her ear, eliciting some strange sensations. She ignored them for the time being.

"How am I going to know that I'm remaining under the dock?" she said.

"We are gonna be swimmin' underwater, you an' me both," he replied. I'll stay t' the outside o' th' dock, jus' in case."

Shortly thereafter, Jack and Elizabeth took big gulps of air, and, holding hands, ducked below the surface of the water.

* * *

"I thought you had said you wanted him alive," Snow reminded Blackwell, upon peeping down through the gunshot hole in the dock.

"Ah…" he said slapping his forehead. "Tha's right… 'ow stupid o' me to forget…. Well, we better go in after 'im."

"Is this all necessary?" Snow replied.

"I agree; this seems like a rather large fuss over nothing," added a redcoat. "Who cares if someone, pirate or no, stole a wanted poster? Happens all the time, especially here. I'm not saying that you shouldn't kill any pirate on sight, but if you have your sights set on catching a pirate, you can take half a dozen steps in any direction and you'll find one."

"Yes, but this particular pirate stole the wanted poster for Lord Cutler Beckett."

* * *

Jack had a rather large lung capacity. Or so Elizabeth thought, as she struggled to keep up with him as they swam underwater. Her lungs about to burst, she gave Jack's hand two hard squeezes and they surfaced. At the sound of her gasping for breath, Jack let out a shush.

They strained their ears to hear the splashing of people entering the water.

"I told you, luv; take a breath whene'er needed," he murmured, barely loud enough to hear over the gasping of her own breath. "They're gonna hear you pantin' if not."

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "Are we getting any closer?"

He peered out from under the dock, submerged in water up to his eyes. A large ship was in front of them, but it was not the _Black Pearl_.

* * *

As Blackwell and Snow struggled to stay afloat under the dock, scraping the tops of their heads on the barnacles and having no footholds, two redcoats followed their cursing and splashing from above, observing any movements of water away from the dock. They passed an array of ships, from the Royal Navy's H.M.S. _Navigator_ and H.M.S. _Victory_ to the minor pirate ships _Dagger's End_, _Bloody Barnacle_, and _Gale's Fury_. Had the East India Trading Company made berth here, they probably would have sank these ships to the bottom of the harbour. However, these were minor pirate ships, and obliterating them might only kill a dozen or so pirates aboard each one, if they had not cleared off the ship completely, which was a distinct possibility. Rather, destroying them would only recruit more pirates in Curaçao.

Eventually the redcoats grew bored of walking ever so slowly at the pace of the struggling Snow and Blackwell beneath the dock, and walked ahead several paces to check out the remaining ships tethered along the length of the dock.

They passed the pirate ships the _Bashful Betsy,_ the _Mary Sue, Calypso's Curse, _and the _Merry Murder_, all silently moored to the posts. More than likely only a couple of pirates were left aboard. The _Merry Murder_ in particular looked awfully run-down, with massive damage to the sails, masts, rigging, as well as the hull itself, like it had barely escaped a battle it had been losing.

"Of all the impertinence!" one of the redcoats exclaimed. "How dare they even set foot on land after nearly bein' blown to pieces, more than likely by the East India Trading Company! She escaped only by the skin of her teeth, seeing the pitiful condition she's in!"

"I agree. Seems downright foolish to me to make berth at all, even though she's in dire need. They are just in luck that the East India Trading Company itself isn't inspecting this dock at the moment."

"Well, with their leader switchin' to the pirate side an' all after getting the flagship sunk, it's gonna be hard for 'em to reassemble their ranks an' be watchful of all the ports in the Caribbean."

"It's amazing to me to think that a pirate would remove a wanted sign of that man. Up until then, I figured him to be a staunch enemy."

"He fooled us all. Prob'ly a spy for the pirates the entire time. You recall wot they said his last words were; it proves that he had done business with the pirates. Those bloody buccaneers seem pretty intent on protectin' 'im, at leas' the one those men told us about. Wonder why?"

"I would think it is because he survived the attack and is now working within their ranks. Protectin' him's the least the pirates could do, havin' a former spy for the Comp'ny on their side."

"You seem awfully certain of what you're saying."

"The more I think about it, yes, the more sense it makes to me."

"Well, where do you think Beckett is at present?"

"I'd say he'd be aboard the _Black Pearl_, the ship that sunk the _Endeavour_. She was close enough to exchange orders during the battle, and to circle about and collect him."

The men continued walking, until they spotted the outline of a dark ship on the very end of the line of ships tethered to the dock. This ship was rather massive, with a black hull, an intricately carved figurehead, and black sails.

* * *

Ah, a nice long chapter! Sorry there's no Beckett in it, but there's plenty of action, nonetheless! Thank you to all the wondrous reviewers who have been giving me feedback! I appreciate it thoroughly! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this installment!


	33. Helpfulness and Hollow Threats

Warnings: none

* * *

"Speak of the Devil; it's the _Pearl_ herself!" a redcoat exclaimed. Immediately the other redcoat pounced on him, covering his mouth with his hands.

"Be quiet! What if she hears you?" he warned.

"It's just a ship! A ship cannot hear!"

"If a ship happened to have ears, this would be the one that would. Haunted, I've heard she is," the other replied.

"What should we do?"

"It's entirely possible that she's near empty of pirates, just as the other ships. However, if not, maybe we'll find Beckett and put an end to all the rumours. Pick us up quite a sum for bringing 'im in."

"We are wearing red coats, in case you haven't noticed."

"Well, let's take 'em off."

After tossing their coats off to the side, the pair of Royal Navy men cautiously went around the side of the ship, peering above the gunwale for signs of movement. The ship was silent, bobbing quietly in the water.

"Wait a moment. Shouldn't we tell someone about this, to let them see to what needs to be done?"

"Aye, we will… shortly. Don't you want to set foot aboard the infamous _Black Pearl_, the only ship that can outrun the _Flying Dutchman_, obliterator of the East India Trading Company's flagship…. the ship that was supposedly raised from the depths by Davy Jones himself?"

"Alright, but just a peek. If they find us, we'll be lucky if they kill us outright," the other replied. With that, the two men slowly ascended the gangway, ducked down, hands on their pistols.

* * *

Meanwhile, upon Elizabeth catching her breath, Jack and she continued swimming and surfacing until they were directly in front of the _Pearl_. The splashes of the men behind them under the dock had all but completely disappeared. Jack ventured to the edge of the dock and peered out, seeing the black hull of his beloved ship. More importantly, he saw no one on the dock.

"Lizzie," he said, returning to her as she waited further under the dock, "e'en though I do not see a livin' soul nigh, we're goin' to swim o'er to th' _Pearl_ underwater. Savvy?"

She nodded, glad for the good news.

The pair swam around the starboard side of the ship, shadowed in darkness and furthest away from the main docks.

They heard the sound of cable being wound, and saw a cable rising from the water at the bow of the _Pearl_. Oddly, the anchor of the _Merry Murder_ began to slowly drop into the harbour.

It was soon apparent that the _Pearl_ had commandeered the _Merry Murder_'s anchor, because soon after it had disappeared into the water in front of the _Merry Murder_, it appeared in front of the _Pearl_ and was wound through the _Pearl_'s hawse to dangle from the bow. Soon the anchor cable was completely loosed from the _Merry Murder_, and plunged into the water.

"Thank goodness we didn't decide to cross in front of the ship now," Elizabeth said to Jack. He responded with a smile.

"Barbossa's quite the plunderer," Jack mumbled. "I can't imagine him doin' that all on his own."

"There they are! I see them!"

Jack jerked his head up to look at the main deck of the _Pearl_, where two men were standing, one pointing right at him. They were dressed like redcoats, but without the red coats. This didn't strike fear into Jack. He was instead rendered confused, and grabbed onto a ladder hanging on the hull, pulling himself up onto the first rung.

"Wot th' bloody hell?" he said aloud. "How could they have commandeered the _Pearl_?"

Elizabeth watched the men scramble towards where the starboard ladder was attached to the deck.

"We aren't going to hurt you," one yelled down to Jack. "We just want to ask you some questions. About that poster."

The other man lifted his arms. "See? We don't even have weapons on us. We just want to ask you why you stole it."

Jack squinted up at the men.

"Can I ask you a question first?"

The men looked at each other, then back at Jack, and nodded.

"Wot are you doin' on me bloody ship!" Jack roared, more of a shout than a question.

One man laughed. "_Your_ ship?" he chided. "This, the _Black Pearl_, is _your_ ship? What kind of nonsense are you trying to feed us?"

"Do you know who I am?" Jack bellowed, holding onto the ladder with one arm and flailing about the other.

The men chuckled, albeit somewhat nervously. Elizabeth scowled. _His pride is going to outpace his sense of reasoning soon…_

"I can assure you that from this day forth, you'll always remember th' name that strikes fear into th' hearts of both honest an' dishonest men, th' day that you were unfortunate enough to cross th' path of Captain Ja—"

Suddenly a gunshot rang out from aboard the _Pearl_, interrupting Jack's introduction. Then another shot. The sounds of yelling, and a command being barked out by Barbossa somewhere aboard the ship. The two men, forgetting about the fugitive, whirled around, sprinted across the deck to the gangway, and fled the vicinity of the _Black Pearl_, running as fast as their legs could carry them, one of the two limping noticeably.

"—Jack Sparrow."

Jack was disappointed, to say the least, to not have told the Royal Navy men his name, in the climax of his introduction, and watch them blanch and stutter. _Well, at least they hadn't commandeered the _Pearl _as I first thought. An' wiv my pistol out of commission, there's not much I could have done from my vantage point. Guess it's all for th' better…._

* * *

Barbossa stood at the bow of the _Pearl_, a musket braced against his shoulder, aiming at the slower of the two Royal Navy men who had trespassed onto his ship and had been conversing at a louder than normal volume, or something along that line. Quite stupid of them to do such a thing on such an infamous ship. Being a rather lousy shot, he was only able to shoot the slower of the redcoats once, when they had been rather close in proximity on board the _Pearl_. Gibbs stood at the helm, Pintel and Ragetti near the gangway, pistols drawn.

The taller captain of the _Black Pearl_ had been rather pleased with himself for convincing the crew members of the _Merry Murder_ to give up their anchor to the heroic crew of the _Black Pearl_. Surprisingly, it had not taken them much convincing. They had been happy to hand over the anchor to support the most infamous of all pirate ships. Some were even stupid enough to leave their ship and join the crew of the _Pearl_, which made his allotted tasks rather easy to perform. The _Merry Murder_ did not deserve her name, for her crew was more than happy to help out a comrade in need. _Very un-piratey indeed, save fer the bickering, sometimes murderous harmony 'tween us members o' th' Brethren Court_, he had mused, flashing the overly helpful pirates an uneasy smile.

"Gents, gents, lower yer weapons," Barbossa told the immediate crew after the redcoats had since disappeared. "However, now that shots have rung out, we've aroused suspicion. Let's get movin'."

Gibbs spoke out. "Jack told me not to leave until he returns," he told Barbossa.

"There be a dire necessity for immediate departure," Barbossa said coolly, walking towards the quarterdeck. Gibbs looked down at him, confused.

"That means Jack's earlier request is now rendered null an' void. Pintel! Ragetti! Loose the moorin' lines!" He spotted Cotton, Mullroy and Murtogg. "You three! Get ready to make sail! An' teach our new hands the ropes while yer at it!"

Jack and Elizabeth could hear shouting aboard the _Pearl_, and Elizabeth grabbed onto the ladder on the starboard side of the ship. Soon the ship was moving out of the harbour, its sails catching a stiff night breeze, pitter patters of rain falling occasionally. Jack and Elizabeth climbed up the ladder, Elizabeth's skirts dragging in the seawater as she looked up at Jack's backside.

"Aren't you going to get a move-on?" she cried, watching redcoats gather on the harbour where the _Pearl_ had been docked. Others she could see racing towards the huge ship of the line, the H.M.S. _Victory_, docked several ships away.

The pair soon crawled up onto the main deck, and Jack snuck up on Barbossa on the quarterdeck, tapping him on the shoulder. Barbossa whirled around, and was nearly scared out of his wits. He even let out a little yelp of surprise, which was not lost on Jack.

"Leavin' me behind, eh?" Jack said, a roguish grin on his face.

Barbossa's expression turned into that of irritation.

"Did ye not see the redcoats? They were on to us; some e'en with the nerve t' trespass upon this very deck. I can't wait aroun' all day fer ye to get…" He looked at Jack and Elizabeth and their lack of…. any food whatsoever. "Well, what _did_ ye get?"

"We as a matter o' fact were held up by some pursuers o' our own, an' were not able to pick up supplies."

"Well, ye've got somethin' there. What be that?"

Barbossa pointed to the rolled paper at Jack's belt, which had somehow remained stiff. Once Jack touched it, he understood. The poster had been treated with some form of waxy coating, rendering it waterproof. A smart treatment for a poster in a harbor town. He yanked the poster from his belt and unraveled it for Elizabeth and Barbossa to see.

Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth when she saw the name and face on the wanted poster. Barbossa just looked at it, devoid of expression.

Several crewmembers newly recruited from the _Merry Murder_ peered at the poster with interest as they stood around, waiting for orders. Jack noticed the group of unfamiliar men.

"Where did we acquire this new crew?" he asked Barbossa.

"Recruited 'em from th' _Merry Murder_, as well as her anchor. They be more 'n willin' to come along. I at leas' did what my task called fer."

Jack was ready to reply with a retort of his own, but Elizabeth interrupted him.

"Jack – so this is what you took?" Elizabeth said.

"Aye, this is the very thing."

"I can't believe they made such a big fuss over you taking it," she said.

Barbossa spoke up.

"Well, by takin' it, yer makin' 'em wonder why ye'd do such a thing. They be thinkin', did ye take it because ye want to use the poster as a practice target? Or is it 'cause yer protectin' his name and visage so's to prevent his capture? If it be the second, then that implies that Beckett be on our side. It may e'en imply that Beckett be workin' with ye directly. As in, on this very ship. Ye led 'em right to us, ye halfwit!"

"If you had killed the redcoats effectively, they wouldn't have been able run back to tell th' others. I cannot be blamed for that." Jack coolly replied.

"Whoever's fault it is it doesn't matter! What matters is they are on to us! And now they know that Beckett is here!" Elizabeth said to the bickering men. They fell silent.

The newest crewmembers looked at each other, and then glanced around the ship with keen interest.

She squatted down closer to the fine print of the poster, and read the text aloud.

"Wanted for treason against the Crown of England, by means of conspiring with the Enemy resulting in the death of One-Hundred-and-Twenty-Six employees of the East India Trading Company. The reward is ten thousand pounds."

"Ah, apparently they've already established it in their minds that Beckett is o' the pirate persuasion," Jack replied. "Who could blame 'em, really? Wot wiv him jus' standin' there like an extra mast whilst his ship gets blown to pieces."

"Why such a steep reward?" Elizabeth asked. "Surely there must be those survivors that were aboard the ship who don't believe he froze up on purpose!"

"That be the purpose o' the reward, t' set the conflictin' rumours t' rest," Barbossa answered. "Gettin' Beckett will allow 'em to close that rather embarrassin' page in their book."

Elizabeth took the poster from Jack, and rolled it up.

"Beckett should see this, how willing his own men are to slander his name," she said to the two men. Before they could reply, she was already headed below deck.

Jack recalled the incident in which he had betrayed Cutler Beckett, when they were both of relatively low ranking in the East India Trading Company, Jack more so than Beckett. _My betrayal meant something at the time, but it's nothin' like this sort o' thing._

* * *

Elizabeth descended the ladder to the brig, where she found Beckett lying on his side, obviously still unable to sit. Someone must have run some new clothing down to him, for the breeches and white linen shirt he was currently wearing had no blood or holes from lashings on them. Yes, it was confirmed; his old clothing was balled up in the corner of the cell, looking rather forlorn. He had heard her coming and was watching the ladder intently as she stepped down with the poster in hand.

She stepped forward with the rolled up paper, staying silent. His curiosity was piqued and so he spoke up.

"What've you got there?"

She said nothing, only releasing her fingers around the circumference of the poster so as to allow the poster to unravel to the floor.

* * *

Last chapter for the year 2007! I hope everyone has a Happy New Year! Be safe and don't drink and drive! I'll be posting the next chapter next year! hehe


	34. Moving On

Warnings: there be violence in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

At the sight of his own face and name on the wanted poster, Beckett's face fell. He gaped at it for a while, as Elizabeth smiled triumphantly watching his expression of doom.

"What an utter load of bollocks," he murmured, standing up and moving closer to the poster to read the finer print.

Elizabeth watched his expression change from annoyed to irate, his mouth agape, as he read through the charges.

"How could they possibly believe…" he said, trailing off in the end, as it seemed he was staring a hole through the poster.

Shockingly to Elizabeth, upon finishing reading, his expression became serene and he yawned, looking bored. This perturbed Elizabeth greatly.

"Is this how you deal with difficulty, by shutting off?" she said accusingly, shaking the poster for emphasis.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," he responded coolly, in the same soft yet confident tone with which he had addressed her on the island when Jack was traded for Will.

"You were enraged mere seconds ago reading this," she said, indicating the poster, "and now all feeling has left you. Where did it go?"

"The trouble with you is that you _cannot_ let things go."

"What are you talking about?" she retorted.

"Case in point, your father's passing—"

"My father's _murder_," she growled.

He sighed. "Whatever you choose to call it; it's auld and done for. And yet you choose to hold on to these feelings of loss and vengeance as if you could undo what happened to your father by prolonging your feelings indefinitely. As for myself, I see the poster, and it angers me to see that my reputation has been slandered so viciously, and yet, there's nothing I can do now to change what happened. So I simply let go and move on with my life."

"So I'm assuming that's what you did on the _Endeavour_, knowing as how your defeat was inevitable."

"A captain goes down with his ship."

"What about beforehand? You had your chance to command your crew. Or had you already realized the fate of the _Endeavour_ and as you say, 'moved on'?"

He looked ill at ease and started pacing about the cell, recalling his utter stupefaction upon seeing his main weapon, his unwilling ally the _Flying Dutchman_, turn on him at the most significant moment of his career. He would never forget that dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the two ships approach, the fading of everything around him but this feeling of utter failure as the enemy ships advanced on him. He had been at an absolute loss for words for the first time in his life, all the while his mind racing with thoughts of where he could have went wrong, how his plans could have fell apart so quickly. His life had been an easy one, of luxury and manipulation, of having connections early on to boost him in his endeavours. And he saw how he had direly misjudged the situation and how naïve he had been in not even considering the possibility of his plans failing him. He was the cause of the _Endeavour_'s downfall. All the connections he had made and had broken, all the necks he had stepped on in his ascent to lordship, had now become immaterial. All that currently mattered was that his ship was going to suffer significant damage at the hands of enemies he thought he had cornered. It was certainly not a good moment to realize that he was not cut out to command a ship, much less a fleet. These revelations were simply too much for him to bear.

After not speaking for an uncomfortably long time, he finally responded in a snappish tone.

"_Moving on_, as I refer to it, is not necessarily a passive submission to fate. It is simply the realization that there's nothing that can be done about a particular situation, and so, it is the choice to live with it rather than fight it all the way."

"So… essentially, it's surrender," she retorted.

"No. You misunderstand me yet again," he said exasperatingly. "It is focusing one's efforts on other issues, perhaps even those _stemming_ from a past problem, rather than on problems that cannot be undone or fixed."

"So what was the issue you were focusing on that day? Remaining the last one alive on the ship without soiling your hands in the process?"

"That matters not. Knowing what exactly occurred then isn't going to affect what already occurred."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful, her countenance smiling, though her mouth not actually in a grin. He refrained from making any sort of eye contact with her whatsoever.

"I could tell that you were thinking about what I said," she told him, rolling the poster back up. "I tend to think that you choked because you had just watched your elegantly contrived plan of the _Dutchman_ defeating the _Pearl_ fail miserably. Forcing the _Dutchman_ to do all your dirty work for you didn't pay off like you had presumed it would, and you couldn't accept that."

He looked at her finally, barely distinguishable mild annoyance on his face, only apparent in his eyes and the way he set his jaw.

"Well, that's your speculation. Now is there a specific purpose to your telling me why I did what I did and in your showing me that poster? Or did you just come down here to try to evoke in me some sort of petty temper tantrum?"

"You've been in denial about your defeat all the while, and so of course you won't have any emotions on it until you realize that it actually occurred."

He sighed, walking to the far corner of the cell.

"I am well aware of what—"

Suddenly a cannonball hurtled through the aft end of the hull, causing Elizabeth to immediately leap face first onto the ground. Beckett threw his body weight against the curved wood of the hull within his cell, his back to Elizabeth.

Soon thereafter they heard returning cannon fire from the _Pearl_, the ship shuddering from the jarring of the cannons as they fired.

"Bloody hell, not again," Beckett muttered, his face against the hull of the ship.

Another cannonball blasted through the hull of the _Pearl_, ramming against the corner of Beckett's cell and causing the grating to collapse. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto his backside, seeing stars from the resulting pain.

Thankfully for Beckett the grating had taken the brunt of the force from the cannonball. However, the cannonball still had velocity and collided into his ankle, not forcefully enough to break it but enough to cause Beckett a good deal of pain. He refused to yell aloud, instead sucking air back through his teeth as the current situation took a backseat to the intense pain he was now feeling in _two_ specific places.

The thunderous echoes of the _Pearl_'s cannonade filled Beckett and Elizabeth's ears, as they remained upon the floor of the brig. When there had not been another cannonball entrance in several minutes, Elizabeth yelled out.

"Beckett, we've both got to get out of here!"

She watched him gritting his teeth as he lay on his back on the floor, yet he did not turn his head to respond.

After another minute or so of Beckett failing to acknowledge her announcement, she simply left the brig.

Noticing that Elizabeth had abandoned him in the brig, more than likely to die at the next cannonball strike, Beckett propped himself onto his side, his ankle throbbing painfully. He saw that one of the gratings making up the walls of the cell had been knocked to the ground. Setting his teeth, he used the intact grating to pull himself to a standing position. He then stepped over the downed grating and limped up the ladder to the gun deck, dragging his injured ankle behind him. He heard another cannonball hit somewhere in the brig as he stood up in the gun deck. Essentially every member of the crew, save for Sparrow, Barbossa, Gibbs, and Elizabeth, was operating a cannon on the gun deck. Extremely curious, he continued up the ladder to the main deck, where he found Elizabeth standing, looking up at Jack as he yelled for the remaining crew kneeling at the gunwales to continue to fire the cannons.

Rain was pouring in torrents, and the sky was not quite pitch black due to the low-hanging clouds hanging on the horizon. Occasionally Beckett thought he heard a clap of thunder, but it could have been the roaring of the cannons. His hair plastered to his head, he wiped the rain off his face and gazed upon the enemy.

In the distance he saw that a ship of the line, the H.M.S. _Victory_, was the ship firing upon the _Black Pearl, _a decent distance away but now moving alongside the _Pearl_. The H.M.S. _Victory_ dwarfed the H.M.S. _Endeavour_ in both size and supply of cannons. She had moved from behind the _Pearl_ to beside her so she could use all her cannon power to sink her enemy. The _Black Pearl_ had no chance. Beckett's heart seemed to fall into the pit of his stomach as a flashback occurred to first run-in with fate. _To have survived that explosion, only to die at the hands of my former employees, acquaintances, society…. At least I'm not to blame for this… am I? _

Elizabeth ran to the nearest cannon, loaded it, lit the fuse, and fired upon the massive ship. The cannonball struck its target somewhere, but it was impossible to tell where exactly because of the constant stream of smoke surrounding the actively firing enemy ship.

No one was paying him any heed at the moment. Jack was steering the ship, trying to get the _Pearl_ to catch the wind in her sails, which was nearly impossible in the barely present breeze. Barbossa was also yelling orders, but was presently knelt down beside a cannon on the gunwale, firing upon the enemy. Every other member of the ship was firing a cannon or carrying cannonballs to those who had run out. Beckett felt rather stupid, standing here doing nothing just as he had done during the anticlimactic battle on the H.M.S. _Endeavour_.

The H.M.S. _Victory_ was returning fire at a rapid pace, and occasionally a cannonball would strike near where Beckett was standing, lobbing off the railing of the gunwale, weakening the masts with repeated hits, as well as landing countless hits on the lower portions of the ship. No doubt the casualties aboard the _Pearl_ were rising.

Elizabeth was distraught. She knew that this was going to be the final battle. The _Victory _was far too well-armed and simply massive to be defeated. And the fact that it was capable of firing and returning fire already put it ahead of the _Endeavour_. The _Black Pearl_ was going to sink tonight, and she was probably going to die. Her thoughts turned to Will.

_Oh, how I wish you were here right now, Will. Just like you had been there against the _Endeavour_. Together, our ships might be able to overwhelm the _Victory_ and we'd be able to survive another day. _She sighed. _Well, I would, at most…._

She thought of Will's heart, encased in the chest. She had safely tucked his chest on an alcove of the island where they had spent their last day together, safe from Jack's – or Beckett's hands. If either of them were to stab the heart – or hold it hostage, in Beckett's case – Will would die, or be forced to continue Davy's Jones' work while under the control of the East India Trading Company. She could not risk these possibilities. Even the _Pearl_ being bombarded continuously like this would be a risk to the chest and its precious cargo.

_But what would the heart matter if I died tonight,_ she mused._ What would happen to it? Would Will return in 10 years to find no one waiting? Would he become like Davy Jones as a result? If I die here today, I'll never see him again. I may see him as he ferries me off to the next world, so at least he'd know what had happened. But wait—if something does happen and I survive long enough, maybe I can become a member of his crew. That wouldn't be bad at all. I'd be with Will, we'd be together—_

"Elizabeth," a male voice croaked behind her, as she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jerked at the touch as her heart leapt in her throat. _Could it be Will? Could my prayers have been answered? Oh, my darling Will—_ She whirled around in her squatted position, gazing up into the face of – Beckett.

"What do you want?" she said curtly, obvious disappointment on her face.

"Who did you think I was?" Beckett said, having noticed her countenance falling upon seeing him.

A cannonball narrowly whizzed by, slamming against the mainmast of the _Pearl_.

"Why does it matter," she remarked bitterly. "We're going to all die here anyway." She said it with a sort of grim acceptance, as if she had already grasped the fact that the next step for her was to work aboard the _Dutchman_.

"What happened to your optimism?" Beckett replied, taken aback by her uncharacteristic glumness. "I recall you being quite confident that you and your little pirate fleet would succeed in killing me. And you _nearly_ succeeded, had it not been for your own actions afterwards."

She flashed him a look of confused suspicion.

"Are you trying to get my hopes up?" she asked him.

"Perhaps," he said with a crooked smirk. "It may be best to just let go and move on."

"Easy for you to say," she replied. "I'll just stand around, pretending like nothing is going on—"

"That is _not_ what I meant," he said, rolling his eyes. "Didn't I, only minutes ago, explain quite clearly my definition of that phrase?"

She did not look at him. He could only watch helplessly as cannonball after cannonball slammed into the ship, the yells of pirate crew following shortly after each hit. Things looked rather hopeless, and he considering diving off the side of the ship, though he was not a great swimmer. It struck him that although Elizabeth was aware of the impending doom, she was willing to go down with a fight – and wasn't even making an attempt to get away.

He looked down at her hair matted with rain, her clothes a sopping mess, as she knelt behind the cannon, and felt a strange pang within him.

"You don't have to go down with the ship," he murmured softly to Elizabeth, his voice unusually warm.

"Although I am not a captain, I am going to stay aboard the _Pearl_ no matter what happens," she said, not looking up at Beckett, who was standing beside her.

Beckett glanced out over the water. One of the acquired crewmates of the _Merry Murder_ could be seen floating facedown in the water below them, as well as an alarming amount of splintered wood from the heavily damaged hull. Cannonballs struck all around Beckett and Elizabeth as they stood by the gunwale. Elizabeth continued speaking.

"You, on the other hand, have nothing to gain and everything to lose from staying here. If you abandoned ship now, you may be able to make it back ashore."

"What are you saying; that you're letting me go?" The notion of her freeing him prematurely was bizarre, to say the least.

"Am I really in a position to prevent you from leaving?" she replied, loading a cannonball into the cannon.

Beckett was at a loss for words again, as he looked back down at her, shifting several steps away from her. It seemed as if the H.M.S. _Victory_ was getting closer and the cannon fire more frequent. Thankfully there was still time to react before the cannonballs hit. However, if the _Victory_ moved any closer, death would be instantaneous. The end was at hand. He'd have to jump overboard soon if he wanted the best chance at survival.

He stopped looking at Elizabeth, only to glance up briefly at the _Victory_, seeing a cannonball whizzing towards the gunwale that Elizabeth was squatting behind, completely unaware.

* * *

Only a couple of chapters left to go now!


	35. Decisions & Indecision

Warnings: there be violence in this chapter, so ye be forewarned…

* * *

There was not a moment to spare. Although he was not in direct danger of being struck by the cannonball, he did not even have time to consider what to do. Beckett lunged at Elizabeth, barreling his body into her chest as she yelled in surprise, knocking both of them forcefully to the deck, a distance away from her cannon. The cannonball obliterated into a shower of wooden shards the gunwale that Elizabeth had been behind only moments before, and sent the cannon she had been operating flying into the air.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to find Beckett on top of her, his face mere inches from her own. Rain dripped down from his face and hair onto her own, as she noticed his close-eyed grimace.

She turned her head to the side, in the direction of the cannon she had been operating. Everything was gone. Not an inch of the gunwale remained where she had just been squatting. She hadn't even seen the cannonball coming. Beckett… Lord Cutler Beckett, had just saved her life. She was dumbstruck. What was she supposed to say, supposed to do now? Her greatest enemy had saved her life.

Jack ran down from the quarterdeck to Elizabeth, shoving Beckett off of her.

"Are you alright, Lizzie?" he asked her, an expression of pure concern. The rain had caused the kohl to smudge under his eyes, rendering him into some sort of zombie pirate.

He pulled her up off the ground, looking into her eyes as he held her hands in his own.

"You—you were jus' where—jus' where that cannonball hit. An' I wasn't even aroun' t' do anythin' about it." He glanced down at Beckett, who had been pushed onto his back, his face taking in the rain. Elizabeth looked down at Beckett and removed her hands from Jack's, squatting down next to Beckett.

"Beckett," she said. She felt Jack's hand on her back, and feared the worst. Maybe Jack could see more of Beckett's condition from his higher vantage point.

She put her head to his chest. However, it was impossible to hear a heartbeat with the rain and cannon fire still happening all around her. She looked at his expression, and thought she saw his eyelids flutter.

Suddenly Beckett sat up, looking rather dizzy. Elizabeth jolted and almost fell backwards, immediately relieved to see that he was conscious. He looked at her, then up at Jack, blinking away the rain that was dripping into his eyes.

"Y-you saved my life," Elizabeth said hesitantly, but gratefully.

Another cannonball struck nearby, narrowly missing Elizabeth. Beckett flinched from the close proximity of the projectile. He recovered from the flinch, attempting to pull himself into a kneeling position so that he could stand once again. He did not respond to Elizabeth.

"Beckett… you saved my life," she said again, as a fiery projectile whizzed very close by her head. She hadn't even noticed it fly by.

He rose to his feet shakily, finally making eye contact with her.

"Well, don't go spoiling it already," he said with a slight smirk.

* * *

"I think we should go down with a fight," Elizabeth told Jack and Beckett, as their ship shuddered with cannonade.

It had been several minutes since the close call with the cannonball, Jack finally calming down enough to let Elizabeth stand more than a metre away from him.

Jack started nodding, hearing the firing of more cannons from the massive enemy ship.

"I am inclined to disagree with that," Beckett replied, shaking his head.

Jack and Elizabeth gaped at him in shock.

"Sounds like _your_ typical strategy," Jack shot. "An' wot gives _you_ th' right to make any orders on my ship?" he continued in a belligerent tone.

A cannonball struck the _Pearl_'s anchor, the resulting clash of metal on metal deafening, causing everyone aboard the _Pearl_ to cringe. In the silence that followed, Beckett spoke, trying so hard to ignore Jack's cutting comments.

"I just wanted to point out that I can feel the wind picking up, and I think if fall off the wind, we could catch it and move ahead."

Jack could only narrow his eyes at Beckett. As for whether this was due to suspicion or to avoidance of rainwater entering his eyes, only he knew. Elizabeth had fallen silent. Beckett continued his speech.

"This would expose the considerably smaller stern to the _Victory_, a much trickier target to hit in this darkness. If we could get a bit further out to sea, the _Victory_ would be stranded against the lee shore."

"We'll have to adjust to a larboard tack then," Elizabeth added. Beckett gave her a little nod of the head.

Jack looked over at her, eyes goggling. He put his index finger in his mouth, and then held it in the air. Realization washing over him, he glanced over Elizabeth's shoulder at the _Victory_, encased in a gigantic cloud of smoke.

Suddenly he did an about-face and sprinted over to the hatch, descending below deck. _He saves Lizzie, an' now he's tryin' to help us get away? _he mused as he retreated._ Wot th' bloody hell is goin' on?_

Beckett and Elizabeth could only gape at each other. Elizabeth had considered Beckett's idea and thought it highly probable that it could work. The _Victory_ had the _Pearl_ beat in both size and cannon power, but the _Pearl_ still remained the fastest ship in the Caribbean.

Jack reappeared on deck with a dozen crewmembers. "All han's on deck," he commanded them. "Set th' sails for larboard tack. Make ready, lads!"

He refrained from looking at Beckett and Elizabeth as he ascended to the quarterdeck once again, adjusting the rudder so that when they caught the wind, the ship would move onto a favourable course immediately.

_Why _is_ Beckett so willin' to help us escape?_ he mused. Suddenly he remembered the poster. _Ah, it's most likely because of Lizzie showin' him the poster. Now he realizes wot true betrayal really is. I would never have expected 'im to whisk her out of harm's way. I guess I misread th' little whelp. Yet now he an' Lizzie have this sort o' unspoken bond. Rather creepin' me out, it is._

Once Jack had adjusted the helm, he recruited Gibbs to remain on course. He rushed back down to the side of Beckett and Elizabeth, who were watching the sails swell with wind.

Elizabeth and Jack helped to tie down the booms, leaving Beckett standing by the mainsail, looking onward. The _Pearl_ was slowly inching away from the _Victory_. Quite soon they'd be much safer.

Suddenly Beckett felt a dagger at his throat, and a pistol rammed into the small of his back.

The stench of garlic and alcohol wafted into his nostrils as the pirate behind him spoke.

"Ye better listen because ye be comin' with us. It's up to ye whether ye wish to remain alive or die. Yer worth the same regardless."

Barbossa heard the voice of a crewmember he had recruited from the _Merry Murder,_ and stood up to look at what events had unfolded. He slowly made his way over to where Beckett was standing immobile in front of the pirates he had picked up in Curaçao.

There one of the pirates was, holding a dagger to Beckett's throat, his hand behind Beckett's back. The other pirates of the _Merry Murder_ were standing alongside, holding their pistols at the ready.

"What be goin' on here, gents?" Barbossa said cordially to his new recruits, though he was deeply troubled by this new development.

"We're gettin' this reward, an' there's nothin' you can do about it," the pirate behind Beckett replied. "We suspected ye'd have stowed 'im away, an' our suspicions were correct."

Jack turned to Barbossa from his position by the mainsail, his eyes narrowed.

"Look who's th' one leadin' the dogs right to us, ye bloody halfwit!" he said, mocking Barbossa's earlier dig at him.

Beckett attempted to squirm away from his captor, but his efforts were all for naught. Even if he was able to escape this particular pirate, there were half a dozen more surrounding him on the sides and from behind.

He was able to free up an arm, and jabbed his captor with an elbow, eliciting a yelp from the man. The dagger dropped as the pirate reacted to the sharp unexpected pain, and Beckett bent over to snatch the weapon.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out and he fell face first upon the deck.


	36. Merry Murder

Warnings: it'd only be spoilers if I said any more…

* * *

Barbossa yanked out his own pistol to prepare to shoot the offending pirate, but the other pirates formed a tight circle around the man, steadily aiming their weapons at Elizabeth, Jack, and Barbossa as they gaped on.

The crew of the _Merry Murder _laughed and kicked Beckett's legs as he lay sprawled out on his belly on the deck. Elizabeth was enraged, but also concerned for Beckett's condition. Blood was seeping from a wound somewhere on his back. Holding her hands up in a form of surrender, she watched the new crewmates warily as she lowered herself to the ground by Beckett's head.

Beckett looked over at her, eyes barely open. She could tell he was in great pain, for he was straining to take every breath.

"Don't worry," she said, watching his blood pool on the deck. "You're going to be fine." The situation looked dire, and she wasn't certain of the truth of her statement.

"Ha. I don't think so," he said flatly. He rubbed his fingers together, which were covered in his blood. A rattling sound came from deep inside him.

"It really doesn't look very ba—"

"Listen," he said, the pitch of his voice becoming lower and hoarser as he held his head above the rain-slicked deck. "I must say something, as this appears to be my last chance." He looked down at the deck for an instant, then back at Elizabeth.

"I sincerely regret the part I played in the death of your father," he murmured, his voice quiet enough to only be heard by her. "He did not deserve to die in such a manner, like some common criminal. He was the least deserving of death of anyone I have ever sentenced to die." He coughed a ragged, weak cough, and continued, his voice becoming almost whispery. "All of his efforts were selfless and solely intended to protect you. I had assumed him to be more like myself, ruthless and with underlying, more sinister motivations for his actions. After all, he had risen in the ranks just as I had."

Elizabeth could feel her eyes welling up with hot tears. Thankfully the rain hid this from Beckett, who continued speaking, voice becoming softer.

"I am ashamed of the pain I caused both him and you." He was barely able to manage the next breath, and she almost told him to stay quiet, but he continued.

"It was only until I saw your feelings that realization hit. Neither of you deserved what I put you through. I must confess my selfishness in telling you all this; I did not wish to die with this burden on my heart. I regret that I cannot make it up to you. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't. I am truly sorry for everything…."

He swallowed, and then closed his eyes, laying his head on the deck.

Elizabeth's tears welled over, and she draped her arm over Beckett's back, snuggling in closer to his now peaceful face. He had done it, had apologized sincerely to her between barely perceptible breaths.

The pirates standing above him cocked their weapons at her.

"Get back!" the leader yelled, kicking out his leg. She glared back at him with a look of pure hatred, standing up as she spat at the pirate's feet.

Two of the other new crewmates came forward and lifted Beckett by his shoulders. The entire group of pirates, with pistols aimed, backed up against the gunwale and utilized the breaches from the bombardment to simply walk backwards off the ship.

Beckett was gone.

The island was a few hundred yards away. It was possible that the pirates wouldn't even survive the swim back, let alone with Beckett in tow.

Gibbs steered the _Pearl_ onto freedom from further bombardment. The entire scene that had played out was lost on the other crewmembers, for the rain and thunder and cannonade drowned out almost all nearby sound.

The _Black Pearl_ had escaped the _Victory_ intact by way of Beckett's instruction. The ship had caught the wind successfully and soon even lost the _Victory_ in her sights. Elizabeth strained to see the retreating pirates with their cargo burden, but the rain, smoke, and darkness made it impossible. She stood at the stern of the ship, Jack standing silently at her side keeping her company as tears streamed down her face. Jack had no idea what to say and so remained quiet.


	37. Fin

Warnings: none

* * *

A week later, Beckett stood on the platform of the gallows in Port Royal, his hands tied with rope in front of him, a noose around his neck. His face was peaceful and composure completely intact. Members of the Royal Navy were becoming unnerved by this sense of tranquility in their former employer. The newly appointed lord of the East India Trading Company watched on, amazed at how Beckett uttered not a word of anger or disgust over this change of circumstance. He had previously been the condemner of alleged pirates, the observer of dozens of civilian deaths, many probably innocent of their crimes. And now he was to hang.

He was not innocent of his crimes, that was for certain. The newly appointed lord of the East India Trading Company had heard of Beckett's cowardice, balking before the battle with the pirate enemy had even begun. What other way to explain these actions than by treachery?

Beckett remained quiet in the brig of the _Navigator_ as it returned him to Jamaica, specifically Port Royal, for his trial. They had patched and treated the gunshot wound in his upper back near his shoulder blade.

When the medic approached him to tend to his wound, Beckett remarked dryly, "What's the point of attending my wounds when I'll be dead in less than a week?" Even so, the doctor did what he could, and soon Beckett's ugly wound was on its way to healing, if only for that week.

At his brief trial in Port Royal Beckett was not able to speak for himself, although he would shake his head when witnesses spoke untruths. However, there was one question he was allowed to respond to, as he stood at his bench:

"What was meant by your last statement aboard the _Endeavour_, Mister Beckett," the judge asked him, gazing down at him from his high podium.

_Lord. Lord Beckett_, he mouthed irritably, rolling his eyes.

"I believe I asked you a question," he heard the judge remark.

Beckett was both irritated and confused.

"What last statement," he replied blandly.

The judge looked at his papers, straightening his long curly wig with a wrinkled hand.

"It says here that you referred to something being good business."

Beckett could not remember saying the now infamous phrase he had let slip when he had been in an utter daze, watching his ship get blown to pieces. He could only stand there silently in front of the judge, mouth slightly ajar, eyes downcast as he searched his mind for this recollection, avoiding the gaze of the surviving witnesses who had heard him say those last words.

Several minutes of thought must have passed, because the judge had since adopted a look of aggravation.

"Although you behave as if you cannot remember these words, I have several witnesses who can confirm your last words mentioning it being 'just good business' to be true. And they swear that these words referred to the deal you had previously made with the pirates."

Beckett looked back at Lieutenant Groves, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat_. And I had thought he idolized me. So much for my assumptions…_

Suddenly he was able to recall what he had said, and remembered his deal with Jack in the _Endeavour_.

"Well, that's true, but—" he sputtered.

"That is all," the judge said dismissively, waving his hand. Immediately afterwards, the guards seated him again and the ruling was made.

Of course he was pronounced guilty after the proceedings.

And now he stood, calm and unaffected as ever, the rope already feeling like it was cutting off circulation in his neck. His throat was drier than it had ever been. Yet he could not let any pain show. He was going to die with dignity, no matter what the cost. There was no explanation that could redeem his aiding the pirates into escaping from the Royal Navy the night he was shot. Now that he had voluntarily helped the pirates, he considered himself to be a traitor. He was not immune to his own laws; that he had to respect.

The official stepped forward, facing the condemned as he announced the details of the execution that was to take place shortly.

"Cutler Beckett, be it known that you have been sentenced to death for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Namely for treason by means of conspiring with the pirate enemy resulting in the death of one-hundred-and-twenty-six employees of the East India Trading Company, as well as resulting most recently in the death of thirty-five employees of the Royal Navy aboard the H.M.S. _Victory._"

Beckett scanned the crowd very briefly, not allowing his eyes to focus for more than a moment on the various gathered individuals. Lieutenant Groves was here, as well as other officers that had apparently survived the attack on the _Endeavour_. Those men were not able to make eye contact with him as he stood on the platform. The official continued speaking throughout Beckett's reverie.

"And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."

A drumroll began soon thereafter. Beckett set his jaw, keeping his head held high, eyes focused above the barracks of the fort. His stance was proud, dignified, as he had always presented. Beckett was rather famous for maintaining a calm composure at all times, and this, his now third encounter with death, would be no different.

The hangman grabbed the lever for the trapdoor as the officer nodded his head to signal. All of a sudden a gunshot rang out, slicing the rope cleanly just as the trapdoor was released from beneath Beckett's feet.

Beckett fell to the dirt below the platform, coughing from the cloud of dust that resulted, a sharp pain jutting through his wounded shoulder. He was more confused than he had ever been in his life. Never had a hanging he'd witnessed gone awry like this….

Jack and Elizabeth suddenly appeared in the crowd, Elizabeth holding a smoking pistol. They were bedecked in Royal Navy garb, and rushed down through the crowd, a loaded gun in each hand.

Upon reaching Beckett, the condemned former lord stood up and gaped at his former captors in surprise and shock. Elizabeth and Jack sandwiched his body between them, slicing the rope binding his wrists as they made their way up to the lookout over the harbour, keeping everyone back by brandishing their readied firearms. Jack yanked Beckett along by the intact rope hanging from his neck, him helpless to resist.

As the redcoats and East India Trading Company employees advanced upon them quite cautiously – they hadn't actually expected all the allegations to be true – the trio stood high above the waters below.

Suddenly the three disappeared, plunging into the ocean below.

When they resurfaced, Beckett could not help but gape in silence at the rescue that had just been performed at his hanging. Jack and Elizabeth tread water nearby, squinting up at the people on the lookout. The rope around his neck was now wet and heavy, and he groaned. Suddenly he remembered Elizabeth's smoking pistol, and realized something.

"I thought you said you were a bad shot at a distance," he told her, the only thing he was able to say.

"I am. I was aiming at the executioner," she replied jokingly.

Jack and Beckett couldn't help but laugh at her confession. It was the first time Elizabeth had heard Beckett's natural laugh, which was really quite pleasant. It was relatively quiet and polite-sounding, but more high-pitched than his normal voice. Nothing at all sinister about it.

As the enraged Royal Navy and EITC employees stewed high above the shoreline, Jack looked at Beckett, using his dagger as a saw to work through the length of rope that trailed behind Beckett.

"You're free to go as you please, but I would strongly advise not stayin' here, if you want to live," he told Beckett, tossing the remainder of rope behind him. Beckett considered, as he looked back up at the crowd on the peak, seeming to be aiming their weapons in his general direction.

"Well, I suppose I really have no other choice but to go with you… at least for the time being."

The _Pearl_ was his only ticket off the island and certain death, and there was no turning back now. Jack and Elizabeth had established with their actions that they now allies, and no amount of convincing would persuade the courts to think otherwise.

Elizabeth and Jack proceeded to swim out to the _Black Pearl_, which floated offshore a short distance, her sails luffing in the wind. Beckett lagged behind, for the pain in his shoulder was greatly impeding his ability to swim. _I've cheated death yet another time_— Beckett mused, as he watched Jack and Elizabeth, his unlikely allies, swimming a distance in front of him._ –And this time I'm going to make the most of it. _

* * *

So, what did you think? Would you like to see more? If you would like to see more, tell me so that I can begin doing so!

-Amymimi


	38. Notes and Questions for the Sequel

Hello there!

So, to inform you all out there who have been keeping tabs on this story…. I have gone about posting the sequel to "Beckett's Debt," entitled "A Touch of Destiny." I do have a couple of things I'd hope you'd share your opinion on.

Later in the story I am planning on writing a scene with a decent amount of kink and heavy innuendo. This scene will be a chapter or so long. I will not divulge who is in the scene, but if you absolutely abhor that sort of thing, please let me know.

So what'll it be? A rather kinky love(?) scene, or a playful, mildly flirtatious one in its place? Please let me know if you'll absolutely detest my idea, before I write it and post it and scare everyone away.

And just to mention… the next story isn't going to be quite as many chapters as this one was. And, each of the chapters should be significantly longer.

As well as Elizabeth and Beckett, there will be Jack (though maybe slightly less than in the last fic), Barbossa (more than in the last fic) as well as Pintel, Ragetti, Murtogg, Mullroy, Marty, and Will, perhaps. I'll also be introducing some new characters.

Well, thank you for keeping up with this story! I hope you'll stick around for the sequel!

Sincerely,

Amy


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